


Breathe In | Breathe Out

by Elizabeth1985



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDBCrossover, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Broken Dean, Brotherly Love, Crossover, Dark, Depression, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insanity, Love, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Novel, Original Character(s), Pain induced orgasms, Panic Attacks, Possession, Psychological Torture, Rape with Possessed Dean, Recovery, Rimming, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 222,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guilt-stricken, Dean finds himself wasted on the asphalt behind a club with Gadreel’s trail gone cold. In what he believed was his lowest moment, Castiel came and picked him up, giving him hope for a future. But it’s all taken from him; everything he was gets twisted. The very soul of him being corrupted.</p><p>Castiel has seen the ages of the world, the tragedies that would cripple the strongest men. But this? It changes everything. Mending Dean’s mind and soul should be his only priority and yet, that too, is stolen from him. </p><p>Building on the sidelines of circumstance and opportunity, a new evil rises to shadow the world and their only hope to cauterize the influx of monsters is a singular event. It’s something Castiel is sure will never happen. </p><p>Constantly pulled apart by challenges both delicate and colossal, Dean and Cas fight to keep each other whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hi Dumpster, It's Me, Dean Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark story that began from the point where Dean leaves Sam and Castiel on the bridge after casting out Gadreel from his brother. This story combines characters and elements and themes from a book series that I love, (BDBSeries). Aberdeen is very evil. 
> 
> I'd like to thank [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/profile) who is the most spectacular beta reader on the whole planet and legit read this beast twice. You are the best!!! XD
> 
> Amazing commissioned art piece by [LittleSkrib](http://littleskrib.tumblr.com/)

" _Your bony fingers close around me_

_Long and spindly_

_Death becomes me_

_Heaven can you see what I see?_ "

* * *

 

 _"Dear future me…_ (For the record, this is stupid)

_Sam's making me do this as some dumb activity that's supposed to help. I can barely think beyond an hour, no clue what makes him think I'm gonna come up with anything decent to say to a future version of myself. I mean, shit, there's a good chance I won't make it to a future me. There's a good chance I'll kill Sam, Cas, and then myself in some bloody threesome slaughter show._

_Fuck it..._

_Here goes—I legitimately hope you're past all this. In the incredible turnout that you're still alive, I hope you're halfway back to normal. I hope you're happy. Not that I even remember what that's like. There was that dream though… but I force myself not to think about it, and if you're still as fucked as me, don't. Don't ever think about it. It's better that way._

_And if you ever get the chance to go back in time, book it to that fucking bridge and glue your damn feet to the ground. 'Cause let me tell you something, it goes bad, alright? It goes real fucking bad._

_If you've made it, awesome. Good on you. If not, well, then I guess this letter is nothing but the unlikely diary of broken man._

_Seriously though, if the future me is reading this crap and you're happy, burn this, burn anything that reminds you of this version of me. Guess that's all I've got for now..."_

* * *

 

 **_September 5_ ** **_th_ ** **_, 2013 – Cincinnati_ **

It'd been a week or so since Dean had abandoned his brother Sam, and good friend Castiel who also happened to be an honest-to-goodness angel, on that shoddy bridge; the rain pissing down on them.

At the time, no other choice made sense. The way his little brother had looked at him… Dean had never seen that before. Utter disappointment, with a side of unbanked resentment. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of hate.

So there it was: His only family, falling apart before his eyes.

In that look, with the tight set of Sam's jaw, Dean saw all the horrific presumptions he'd ever entertained about himself confirmed and verified. _It's all your fault…_ Sam's eyes said. Blood boiling, his heart curiously cold, he took one fleeting final glance at them both and turned his back; walking heavy steps in the musty-smelling rain towards his car.

Since that fateful night Dean had been grasping at straws trying to redeem himself. See, the thing he'd done? It was as bad as you could get. Sammy and him had been hunting monsters since they were kids (demons, ghosts, ghouls, etc…), and all sorts of bad and worse had happened over the years: Apocalypse, anyone? But this ditty? Well, apparently letting an angel you didn't know for shit possess your dying brother to save his life was damning and unforgivable.

 _Fine_. So possession was a bit of no-no in the hunting world. Ya know, demons and all that, and most of the angels being dicks as well. But seeing as Sam was basically flat-lining with Death moonlighting the dude's dreamscape, shit had to be done.

So he'd done it. Shittily enough, turned out the angel who claimed to be good—even vouched for by Dean's best angel-friend Cas, had deceived them all. The man-angel who had called himself Ezekiel turned out to be none other than Gadreel—the one who'd let the snake into the Garden of Eden. Numero Prick Uno.

All of this led him to his current mission: Following lead after lead on Gadreel—the fucker that had put the rift between Dean and the two people he cared most about. That bastard-angel's death was becoming his Holy Grail, and this solo journey was his crusade.

Dean had been going forward for days with no sleep and only mental fortitude to keep him upright, dragging his ass from one place to the next, feeling hot rage and helplessness rise up to take him over like a damn rip-tide.

The lethal combination of emotions and exhaustion got the better of him on this Thursday night in boring-ass Cincinnati. It was dark, and wet from a recent downpour.

Drunkenly, he sang in murmurs as he walked around from the exit of the club towards the rear of the building facing the Ohio River, where he could feel a thick breeze waft in his direction.

" _Alllll by mysseelllfff…"_ Dean laughed, continuing to hum the song loudly, gaining looks from stragglers after dark. One in particular eyed him keenly.

"What'ch you lookin' at?!" he barked. The middle-aged man swiftly turned his face away and picked up pace, putting eager distance between himself and the 'drunken idiot singing Celine Dion'.

Shit-faced, Dean stumbled along the flat back-side of the old brick warehouse, collapsing down under a loading dock platform next to a smelly dumpster with a clang.

Eyeing the rusted green thing, a maniacal laugh tore out of him and he thought: _How fucking appropriate?_

Shaking his head with frustration, he realized he'd been going at this for a whole friggin' week and each and every lead had resulted in absolute shit for nothin'. He was a failure at fixing his own failures.

Awesome, Dean, _really_. Good job!

When he'd rolled into town hours earlier, only to find the snitch of a demon he'd been tracking gone without a shred of evidence— _well_ —to say he'd been pissed was an understatement. After throwing a minor fit in the hotel room and flushing his deposit straight down the toilet, Dean had headed directly for the closest seedy bar, some kind of warehouse club—not his usual scene—but the anonymity of throngs of club-goers had been right on point for his state of mind. Which was: Wanting to get FUCKED UP. The goal for the night being to consume as much alcohol as possible until he was no longer standing.

Glancing sideways at the ground, he thought, _huh_... That mission had been a success at least. Point for me, right?

His bowed legs were sprawled haphazardly, his ass on the damp cement, his back half leaning on the coarse foundation wall, and something dripping on his shoulder from above. The thrum of music and repetitive beats radiated around him; the building too old to contain it. The annoying _unh-tz, unh-tz_ banged against the inside of his skull. Each blink increased the sensation of burning in his eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was from severe exhaustion or a result of the epileptic-inducing lightshow in the bar. On top of that, his lungs had apparently shrunken in size, stealing him of air. Each inhale a fucking gasp and a struggle.

The shallow corner between the building and the metal garbage-box was rank with the smell of refuse and wet pavement, that earthy and sweet combo giving his gag reflex some exercise.

With the booze lifting the filter of his thoughts, he wondered, again, how Sam could have come to hate him so damn much? Was what he'd done—saving his little brother—so horrific? So unforgivable?

"Yup _,_ " he blurted. _Because you sure as hell didn't do it for Sammy_. Ramming his head back against the metal, he cursed aloud, repeating the motion twice more to further scramble his noggin.

All that banging around did was rattle loose shit he'd rather not see. Flashes of the faces of loved ones that he'd let down in his relatively short life: His baby brother, Cas, his dad, his mom, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Kevin... Endless people, faces, lives. All displayed in his mind's eye as bodies piled up on top of one another like a grotesque mockery of his entire life's purpose.

In the face of that macabre mountain, what was the point in trying? All those lives… gone. What was the fucking point?!

Sammy deserved better.

He deserved a _real_ family. Dean was nothing more than wasted energy. Not a damn thing went right. Thank god he wasn't the only one who could do right by Sam in his place. There was Castiel—their unofficial family member. The one person who—other than Sam—made Dean feel cared for and needed. And the only angel Dean had ever liked. The thought sparked something in him. A last shot for a good deed before fate got to him. Yeah, yeah, it's a good plan, he thought.

Just bow out. Bout' time, too.

 _"Cas?"_ he prayed quietly. The name of the angel tugged a cord somewhere deep but now wasn't the time to pull that thread. As if his life wasn't already fucked up enough.

It was possible that Cas might not even be listening anymore, but he hoped. And shit, it was basically his note, anyway. Deep down, he could feel it—the icy breath of Death coming for him. It wouldn't be long now. Dean couldn't place the feeling, call it a sixth sense or whatever, but he knew his days were limited. It wasn't like he planned on offing himself. He wasn't _nearly_ that dramatic—despite evidence to the contrary. But that scythe was well on its way. The end for him was around some next corner and, ya know, he didn't care to fight against it anymore. Who or what that would be the one to perform the deed no longer seemed to matter. Someone or something was coming for him—they always did—and he no longer had the energy to withstand it. All his life he spent struggling to live, to keep others alive, and _over_ and _over_ again, he failed.

What else could he do, but pray?

_"So here's the thing Cas... I, uhh, probably won't be makin' it back, man. Just wanted you to know that I'm sorry and… shit. Uhh… I want you to look after Sammy for me, will ya? Be his family. Be the family that he needs. Support each other and all that crap. Make him go on dates, and get the guy to eat a damn burger once in a while. Ya know, teach him to live a little. Same goes for you too by the way. Don't want ya getting all uptight like you were when we met._

_Listen, I know he hates me. I know you probably hate me too and I tried to fix it. I've looked for Gadreel but the fucker's in the wind. What more can I do? Fuck-all is what. But then it occurred to me… Every time I try to make something better, I fuck it up, so I figure, I'm just gonna stop fucking things up. I'm no good to you guys, Cas. I'm useless. As a brother, a hunter, every goddamn thing._

_Even as a friend, I fuck up. Ya know… to you. Know what I mean? Fuck, don't know if I'm making any sense._

_Kinda wasted…"_

Dean laughed bitterly before he could continue and realized he'd dropped over in his drunken state and now lay completely on the cement like a damn homeless junkie.

 _Awesome,_ Dean thought. Right where I should be, he glanced at the dumpster and winked like it were a hot chick he were about to pick up for a night.

Christ. In the attempt to drink himself to the ground, he should've factored in needing to be knocked the fuck out as well. He couldn't stand himself anymore, so annoyed with all his own bull-shit. Not to mention the way he'd been around Cas since Heaven fell, moving through their friendship with blinders on, being a total dick for the sake of his own sanity.

 _"I know...Cas,"_ Dean continued, slurring. _"I know how much of an ass I've been to you. I don't know why you put up with it. I'm messed up. I've always been shit at stuff like that. An'tired. Yeah...gonna lay down for a minute."_

 _"Tired…"_ he repeated as his eyes slipped shut. The prayer fell silent as he slowly drifted into unconsciousness on the waves of eighty-proof.

A surreal light swept across the rear of the warehouse, illuminating the shiny, wet ground, the green rusted garbage container, and the man collapsed beside it, passed out, smelling of sweat and booze.

/\/\/\

In the nightmare, his body scraped over the grubby ground, arms being pulled by some force he couldn't see.

Suspected destination: _Hell_. Or, the memories of it at least.

No less terrifying.

There was no kicking or screaming this time around. Only acceptance. Or perhaps indifference. A part of him wondered if maybe the nightmare was real. The scary thing was? He couldn't quite bring himself to care.

When did I give up? he wondered. Was it on that bridge? Before? Didn't matter, he supposed.

After the first cuts of a razor sliced his skin, a voice pervaded the darkness. Not something screechy, or demonic, and certainly not his own garbled whimpers. A voice that felt pure, and beautiful. It was the most spectacular sound he'd ever heard. Something indistinct. Not male or female, neither exact nor vague...it was just the voice of something he knew.

Cinching his eyes tight, he wished the voice was as real as the pain. Not that he deserved it, but the lull of something so wonderful put a dent in the hollow feel of his indifference. It tempted him enough that his self-preservation made a blazing return.

 _Wake the hell up!_ he thought fiercely, fighting back on a surge of adrenaline, his heart starting to race.

With a growl of his own, he battled against the demon slicing into his skin but the binds were tight. Without reward, he fervently struggled, grunting, trying to escape the torments that he no longer accepted with passive impartiality.

The voice disappeared, but he hoped for its return, as waking up from nightmares of Hell had always been next to impossible. And the whole eyes open business never really calmed the terror anyway.

The exhaustion of fighting his own subconscious drained him, his desperation causing him to cry out, muttering strings of vulgarity, mixed with pitiful prayers. The demon only laughed and continued carving him up. The ardency of the pain made his teeth chatter. An irritating clack-clack-clack as he tried to form words around the distractions here.

"This is what you deserve!" the demon snarled. "You're death to everyone around you. They all suffer because of _you_ , Dean. They're all dead because of _you_."

The demon twisted his wrist in a quick, sharp motion and he heard the bone snap under his skin. Even with his teeth gritted against the pain, he cried out. Then his muscles went wild on him, shaking and trembling. Dampness rolled out from the outside corners of his eyes and it pissed him off, but he couldn't help the reaction. It wasn't just the pain in the nightmare, or the feeling of despair in this reflection of memory, but everything. All the guilt buried deep breaking free. The exact feeling he couldn't stand.

_Wake up! WAKE UP!_

Screaming himself hoarse, it seemed no amount of demanding that he wake up would work.

Time dragged on.

Then it hit him—What if this wasn't a nightmare? Indifference had abandoned him to let worry take over. Because worse than getting ganked or offing himself, was being express-posted to Hell and being made to torture again. As much as he would have liked to think he could hold out longer than before, he simply didn't have the faith.

Somewhere in the back of his pain and disorientation, he felt that voice again—the perfect one—still there in his head. It spoke to him. Some sort of repeated question...over and over again! Louder and _louder_.

Fuck... What was it saying?

Dean couldn't focus. The pain consumed him. Between his own screams and the demons laughter, the pleasant voice was nothing more than a whisper of light against his ear.

The torture continued for an endless stretch of time. Slashing, cutting, bones breaking, screams—the sound of himself barely recognizable. Blood filled his throat to temporarily quiet him. But the agony and disorientation continued.

_"Dean."_

There it was again!

Damn, if he could only latch onto it. Dumbly, he thought of a carnival prize mechanical arm and imagined himself using one to snag this pleasant voice. His imagination portrayed the voices in the machine as little gold balls, bouncing around, one glowing brighter than the rest; the one he wanted.

It didn't sound human, but the tone of it, the way it wrapped around his name, brought time to a halt. This was definitely no demon; the voice was inarticulate and yet, somehow, familiar. But it wasn't really a voice in the true sense. It was the sound Dean was sure light would make if it could.

For a passing second he thought of busting glass, and pain lancing through his head as a sound pierced his ears sharp as knives. But the memory slipped away as the demon leaned closer.

His torturer was an eclipse of blackness. Its skin a charred, crispy surface that burned Dean wherever it touched. The press of its fingers left marks like cigarette burns. It had a gaunt face with sharp, shark-life teeth. It leered down at him and smirked—the image so grotesque that Dean could hardly breathe. Alistair's true form had been ugly as shit, but _this_...this was something else.

Way to go brain, he thought, really outdid yourself on this one.

When the demon was within millimeters of his face, it snaked out a long gray tongue and licked the side of his face from jaw to temple. Bile rose up in Dean's throat. He choked reflexively while the demon laughed sinisterly beside him. Rotten-sweet breath blew over his nose and mouth. A shriek escaped him because it was all he could do.

In past nightmares of Hell, he would remember the things he'd done. The monster he'd become. It used to terrify him, wondering why his mind went there, until he realized that Alistair was right: " _Always knew you had it in you."_

Realizing that he was a poison worse than cyanide judging by the death toll, it wasn't much surprise that his nightmares twisted on him. In those other nighttime horror-shows, perhaps because he'd been in control, he could eventually force himself to wake up after a time. This was different. Maybe because deep down, struggling or not on the outside, he felt this was where he deserved to be—under the knife as it were.

During a lull of stimulation, or maybe a glorious bout of numbness, he let his mind wander aimlessly. People believed that Hell was hot and humid. And it could be, but every now and then the temperature would drop so low that your bones shook. Your muscles seized and spasmed, making each infliction of a knife, or some other torture device feel that much sharper. The agony stretched out to other parts of you as every muscle trembled violently, and your teeth ached from the force of grating them.

Finding himself in that state, that clear and familiar sensation of Hell, Dean truly began to wonder if it was real. Time had stretched for far too long and he still hadn't woken up. It was beginning to feel endless, days weightless with their continuation.

Still, every so often, coming back to him over and over again, was that trickle of warmth and radiance that ebbed against his being like the flutter of a blanket drifting down to settle over you. Sadly, the blanket never stayed.

Damn that voice. Coming to him like a promise and then slipping away. The wordless sound of something flexing its way at him. It pushed as best as a voice and light can, and he tried to focus on it because it was nice. _God_ , it was so nice. It was the closest feeling of home he could capture amidst the pain, and the sounds of his skin being yanked and torn, and the feel of blood dripping over his thigh, warm and thick.

And the smell. Fuck, it reeked in Hell.

The familiarity of the voice nagged him. _Because he knew_. Deep down he knew. No one else in the whole damn world said his name that way. Formed with intent and meaning and feeling. It always felt like more than his name. Each time… it was _never_ just a name.

There was a break in the torture on his next breath, the light reaching him, endlessly saying his name, and finally he could concentrate on the question that had been on steady repeat since he'd felt his friends presence in the darkness of Hell.

" _Let me in, Dean!"_

 _Fuck… No! Oh, God, no._ Reality crashed on him, and in a fleeting nanosecond he was suddenly sure, absolutely goddamn certain that this was no nightmare. He was really here.

And worse than that, was knowing that Cas was also here.

Dean shouted nonsense, feeling tears anew streak down across his inflamed skin because he had _never_ wanted Cas to save him. He'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of him. Failure greeted him like an old adversary.

The demon slithered a hand up his body in a disturbingly intimate way and Dean choked, barking out a curse at the soulless pit of hatred that was getting handsy.

"Fuck you!" Dean bit off.

"You think he's here for you?" The demon laughed. "No one's coming. It's all in your head, boy."

A sharp slash across his stomach sent blood gurgling up his throat, leaving him sputtering, and coughing trying to bring air into his lungs. Each motion made the pain in his stomach flare and burn like lightning inside his abdomen. The demon crowed at his pathetic attempts to inflate his lungs.

"You don't deserve salvation!" the creature shouted, slicing a machete down to his fingers, slicing off two. The searing, blistering pain tore a scream from his blood-filled throat and he knew from experience that no amount of pain would cause him to pass out…'cause Hell just wasn't that nice.

All around them, the shadowed room began to shake, thick stone walls vibrating. The dust cascaded down in a grey waterfall of broken rock.

With a thunderous sound to rival a bomb, a light erupted through the dark cavern, the sound of its entrance shattering everything. Every object within a forty foot radius exploded into non-existence.

The demon vanished as the light made its way to Dean's bloody, torn-up body still strapped down on the table. It pushed at his skin, feeling warm and gentle. It was insistent. Pushing and pushing at him. Some part of Dean became mildly annoyed but couldn't figure out why.

Hell was evil and blackness, and pain, and humiliation, but it was Hell. And therefore it was predictable. _This_ was...unexpected. He tried to remember something about the light but failed as his brain refused to work properly. Hadn't he known? Felt like maybe he knew before, but now he didn't.

Still, the lightness pawed at him. Not lewdly. It was almost sweet in a weird way. As he tried to concentrate, Dean realized he could hear the voice again. The pleasant one that would tickle at the back of his mind. The one that was familiar, a mystery he was sure he'd already figured out.

Then, like a rollercoaster barreling towards the earth, the soft voice began to roar, screaming, _SHOUTING: "Let me in! Let me in! LET ME IN!"_

Instantly terrified, Dean started to struggle all over again. It was demon, he thought, it's coming back. Shit, it'll possess me! But he couldn't let it. It would hurt Sam, or Cas. He thrashed around, trying to yank his broken wrist through the thick leather strap. He had to get out.

 _"Say yes, let me in!"_ No fucking way!

Dean yelled in a booming voice—as loud as he could manage—expelling a string of profanities so vulgar it was spectacular.

They went back and forth, the voice demanding entry. Demanding entry? Growing still, Dean came to the conclusion that it couldn't be a demon after all. Demon's didn't ask permission. Was it Gadreel? Coming to greet him finally, wanting a new body. He already drove one brother, why not the other?

But then the presence said his name again. Just once. In that singular way that was so… _perfect_. So damn familiar.

_"Dean. Please, it's me."_

Thoughts continued to be pushed at him: _"Please... Say yes."_ The nature of these thoughts were somber with an edge of panic. There was no malice in it, but still… Dean'd made so many unspeakable mistakes and therefore making _any_ decision, especially in Hell, he'd learned first-hand, was never a good idea, so he remained silent, even though his most basic instincts were telling him to say yes. Heck, his instincts were urging him to holler that shit.

The demon never returned. The light stayed by his side. It was soft, fluttering insistently; impatient with Dean's apathy.

_"Let go... Say yes. Please, you can't stay like this. Let me help you."_

Were these lies? How could he know what was really the truth, maybe everything was nothing more than a twisted nightmare.

The thoughts tickled inside his brain and he was so tempted. Man, how amazing it would feel to let go. It used to frighten him, losing control, but now it felt like a blessing. He wanted to be free of feeling, both good and bad.

Dean just wanted to be done with it all.

There was a pressure against his cheek. It felt like a hand, but there was nothing there. Only light, pure and bright.

_"Dean…"_

Warm streaks snaked over his temples as his will seemed to shatter with each touch and urgent delivery of his name.

Beginning to shake, working against his restraints, he let the word escape. " _Yes."_ Quiet as a whisper but deafening all the same.

" _Yes_..." he said once more. The second time easier.

On the heels of his spoken word, everything warped. The light coalesced and flew at him, pushing into his mouth and down into his soul. It wasn't all that unpleasant. In fact, the more the light flowed into him the more his pain diminished, the more his brain reorganized itself into reality. He felt a sense of calm that he hadn't felt _ever_ in his life.

It was so pure and peaceful that he dropped out of awareness from sheer elation at being free.


	2. Family Matters

  _Meanwhile at the bunker…_

Castiel sat on his bed. His _new_ bed. In the room that Sam and _Dean_ had set aside for him. The thought made him so genuinely happy that he smiled as he glanced around the space.

The room was simple: A bed (quite big), a single wood dresser, one night stand, and what he thought was an old music playing device—long and black with a lot of buttons. Without needing to ask, he was sure this had been an addition Dean would have insisted on.

But the most notable aspect of the room? _Quiet_.

Dean's absence fought for his attention. Everything would work out, he assured himself. He knew Dean had faults but it was the nature of them that made it difficult to help the man. It was upsetting how little the hunter thought of himself. And his stubborn, blind attitude was infuriating—there was no breaking through. It made Cas' blood boil thinking of how childish Sam had also been acting since they'd gotten back.

 _Those damn Winchester brothers_ … Castiel sighed.

Sam of all people knew the hard life that Dean had suffered through. Not that the younger Winchester hadn't had it easy either but there was an innocence to Sam that didn't exist in Dean. Sam was more… resilient.

Even though the younger Winchester had been forced into the affects from demon influence, he maintained faith and utter piety. Castiel had never understood how the other angels deplored Sam Winchester. The boy had overcome Lucifer! Such a magnificent, almost unbelievable feat, and it candidly reflected his strength of character.

Dean on the other hand…

Well, Dean certainly was righteous. But the man was dark in ways that Sam wasn't. It was a strange thought for Castiel. As most people he'd known at some point believed Sam Winchester was the boy whose soul was tainted black. Arguably, there was a modicum of truth to that. Where the brothers differed, however, was that Dean _created_ his own darkness. It was never thrust upon him by some yellow-eyed demon in the dark when he was just an infant; Dean allowed his mistakes, and his short-comings to blacken him on the inside. This was far more damaging.

Castiel could still picture the sight of Dean's soul when he'd first come across it in Hell. It had been so bright at the core…so pure. Nearly perfect. It called to him through the shadows with such clarity and purpose that there had been no mistaking who the righteous man was. But as time passed, that soul had become chipped and burned at the edges.

Castiel heaved a sigh and let his body rest against the headboard of the creaky decades' old bed-frame. As he pushed aside his musings on the Winchesters, he decided it was time to have a talk with Sam.

/\/\/\

Hunched over a book in the library, Sam felt hollow on the inside, the rest of him stiff and perpetually uncomfortable. His tall, fit body hadn't fully recovered, despite the last week of healing Cas had unleashed on him. The emptiness, he knew, had absolutely nothing to do with his physical state of crap.

The relationship with his brother was so far beyond broken he didn't even know how to come to terms with the wreckage that was left behind.

They were just so…so _fucked up_!

There was no doubt they loved each other—that was never the problem. The problem was that it was an unhealthy, distorted kind of love where they didn't know how to each be their own person, and _support_ each other, and _trust_ each other in any normal, healthy sort of way. Dean wasn't entirely to blame, Sam had blame in this for sure, but things needed to change. That was why he'd let Dean walk away. It killed him that Dean didn't see it; that Dean _actually_ thought he was some weird cosmic magnet for death because c'mon man, seriously?

_Whatever…_

As much as he missed his brother, they just couldn't bounce back from this. A part of him truly wished Dean had let him die, and the resentment he felt for that wouldn't go away overnight. It bothered him, of course, to see Dean so depressed and all self-loathing but Sam knew that they needed to stay away from each other for a bit.

Sitting up, he realized with a jolt of clarity that Gabriel had been right all along. He and Dean needed to learn to live without each other.

Lesson learned.

It was times like this when Sam felt the urge to punch the great John Winchester… _if he could_. Yes, he completely understood why their dad had raised them the way he had and Sam had already come to terms with the fact that John had only been trying to watch out for them—knowing the life they would have.

But… _Come ON_! Their dad had forced them into a brotherly relationship that wasn't even half-way sustainable. It was like Sam and Dean were atoms that needed the other's existence to exist themselves, and yet when the atoms were too close they would collide into anti-matter and explode the whole friggin' universe. The analogy might've sounded ridiculous at first, but had the two of them not _caused_ and then _derailed_ a worldly apocalypse?! Sounded pretty damn accurate to him!

Sam sighed in contempt at the situation, shoving the book towards the middle of the table in an angry motion. What had he been reading, anyway? Shit, he hadn't been able to focus all week. His mind kept replaying everything from the other night. Every time he pictured Dean saying he was poison, it just made him angrier. Dean was so…so goddamned thick-headed sometimes, and stubborn, and inconsiderate, and just _uurggghh!_ Sam ground his teeth together in frustration.

The air shifted, creating a prickle at the back of his neck. Cas had finally come down from his room then. Barely shifting to look over his shoulder, he tainted the fallen angel's arrival with his perpetual sullen glare. He didn't mean anything by it; it was just the only expression he was capable of.

"Sam," Cas greeted, narrowing his blue eyes in Sam's direction.

"Hey," he replied tersely. The air between them had been charged since Dean left. Neither wanted to discuss the elephant in the room that was his brother's absence.

"How are you?" Castiel walked towards him, taking a seat in the chair at the head of the table.

Sam snorted and shrugged. There were no appropriate words to answer that question and Cas knew it.

His friend reached across the table to place a hand on his forearm in a gesture of comfort and comradeship in this shitty situation. They shared a helpless look but neither said a word.

Cas was quick to stand again, leaning over to place two fingers to Sam's forehead. The light and purity washed through him and a measure of peace and happiness weaved its way in. It was the same sensation every time Cas did this, and Sam appreciated it. It was a brief moment in the day where he didn't feel the desire to scream out of frustration or fume in anger. He wondered if Cas always felt like this; this sort of… peace and purity. If he did, Sam was grateful.

When the deed was done, he opened his eyes, glancing up. Half expecting to see the reflection of peace on the angel's face, Sam was caught for words by the sheer grief he found instead. Moving slowly, Castiel slumped back into the chair with an almost visible weight on his shoulders. The image was depressing.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, his voice tight with concern. He mentally slapped himself for taking a whole week to ask. Cas loved Dean; a fact Sam had known for some time now. Dean had walked away from _both_ of them. Even though Sam knew that he and Dean needed to be apart, it had been a dick move walking away from Cas as well.

"I'm, _well_ , not fine certainly, but…" Cas blew out a breath and shook his head, "I don't know," he concluded defeatedly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Same."

"Sam, would it upset you if I tried to bring him back?" Cas' question made him cringe. He'd been hoping this conversation would've been pushed off for a bit longer.

There was no reply that he could offer that would appease Cas. He was worried about Dean, and that gave him a moment's pause, but the thought of Dean standing in front of him unleashed his anger. Instantly, Sam remembered full-well why they needed to be away from each other.

"I… I don't think that's a good idea, Cas. I think my brother and I need different lives for a little while. Ya' know?" Sam explained as he repeatedly fisted and flexed his hands over and over again, staring down at the table.

The whole situation… this whole _life_ was too… damaged.

Curving the sullen conversation, Cas' attitude did a complete one-eighty, startling Sam into a straighter posture.

"I get that the two of you have ' _issues',_ " Cas began harshly, with included air-quotes, "but Dean is suffering needlessly. He's depressed and hates himself right now. Do you really want to find out in a week from now that he went on some suicide mission and got himself killed?!" Cas had stood. The rise of his voice reached a level where it reverberated throughout the large room. The angel wasn't yelling exactly. More like speaking with celestial forcefulness.

Sam stared in awe, flinching at the notion of what Cas was saying.

Of course he didn't want that to happen.

"C'mon, Cas. You know I don't want that. What do you want me to do?" Sam threw his hands in the air. "We can't keep going around in circles!" _Every damn time!_ he thought. They always came back to the same problems: dying for each other, lying to each other, not trusting each other. They were faithlessly co-dependent! God, it was a brotherly relationship that psychoanalysts could write books about!

It annoyed Sam because he knew that Castiel mainly wanted Dean back for selfish reasons. The angel didn't care that it wasn't a good idea, he just wanted " _Dean."_ Sam thought, angrily mocking the way Cas said his brother's name.

The two of them bristled at each other for several moments before Castiel said anything in return.

" _Fine_." Cas turned to stomp off, but he paused, head inclined as though he were looking at the front door. Without turning back, he spoke again in a softer, quieter voice, the words cutting Sam straight-through. "But just because something's broken doesn't mean you give up on it. You fix it, Sam. You know who taught me that?"

He hung his head, knowing the answer Cas would give.

"You two idiots." Cas brusquely walked up the stairs, slamming the door to his room with angelic force. The sound cracked its way across the open space.

Responding in kind, Sam stood and whipped his chair across the room. It didn't make him feel any better.

Not that he'd expected it to. But irrationality is like that. Fruitless actions in the hopes of calming a brewing storm.

A part of him…a _deep down_ part of him, seated behind all that stubborn anger, _knew_ that he was being selfish and childish. Still, it didn't matter. Sam wasn't ready to face Dean. He couldn't handle being around someone—no matter how much he loved them—that had taken away his chance at peace.

/\/\/\

Not five minutes after Castiel returned to his room following his heated discussion with the younger Winchester, he heard it.

_Dean's prayer._

And it was bad. _Really, really bad._

 


	3. Welcome to the Jungle

_Present - Cincinnati_

_Finally!_ Castiel felt the soft pings of relief ebb through him as Dean said yes, giving him permission, and he speedily took root inside Dean's body, pushing his grace through his friend's slack mouth. There was a depressing weight and discomfort in the action, knowing Dean wouldn't really want this but there was no other choice.

At least none else that he'd been able to think of.

Back at the bunker, the moment he'd heard Dean's prayer he'd known something was terribly wrong. Dean had lost all will to live, to try, to keep going, and there wouldn't have been much time before someone, or something, took advantage of that.

Castiel wouldn't have been able to get to him fast enough. Not with a car. Having his wings clipped negated that option as well. Thankfully, the grace he'd stolen and forced to become his own could move through space faster than anything else he could think of. He didn't really believe that Dean would say yes but he had to try.

When he'd found Dean seconds after leaving his vessel behind, the man had been lifeless on the ground and for a fleeting second, Castiel thought he was dead.

It had been the most terrifying instant of his long, long life. If his grace had a heart, it would've stopped.

Castiel' essence surged forward to create a barrier around Dean so as to protect him from whatever might find him this way. A hunter of Dean's caliber would be high on a lot of monsters hit lists, and the location wasn't all that protected. It wasn't much, but at least he could shield Dean's presence while he tried to figure out how to get through to him.

He couldn't possess Dean, not without permission, but he could invade his dreams, and either wake Dean, or ask his permission there.

When Castiel finally found his way into Dean's dream he was horrified. Dean was experiencing the worst of Hell. The details were so distinct that Castiel was nearly tricked by it. It had given him pause as he wondered if this could be possible. If maybe Dean _was_ dead, and his soul was in Hell, and that was where Cas had actually found him. But no, it wasn't possible. _Couldn't_ be possible, he knew that. It was aggravating that his own worry had the capacity to dilute his ability to reason. To be fair, it wouldn't be the first time Dean had managed to breach past his coherent thoughts.

Time began to pass in the nightmare the same way it passed in Hell and it took what felt like days for Castiel to pierce through Dean's defensive subconscious. He was limited significantly by his intangible shape and presence.

Throughout that long stretch of time before Dean accepted him, Castiel had to watch and endure the sight of this blackened, desert-textured monster as it tortured, humiliated, and debased his dear friend.

Every time Dean yelled or tears fell from his eyes, Castiel's grace flickered. The suffering sucked at his energy like a greedy infant. It was painful to watch, not being able to stop it. Useless was not a feeling he enjoyed.

Nevertheless, he spoke to Dean as the torture continued. Unfortunately, it was as if they were back at the very beginning when Dean couldn't comprehend his voice. And yet _something_ must have shifted in the last several years because it was clear Dean's eardrums were not experiencing deafening noise this time around. Some minor thing to be thankful for, he supposed.

Castiel continued uttering Dean's name, offered comforting words, and repeatedly asked Dean to say yes to him, to let him in. His vehement efforts to pull his friend back to reality while being outside of a vessel were exhausting and difficult. Dean's own temporary state of insanity made everything he did seem tainted. As it was, Dean fought him over and over again.

The worse it got, the angrier he became, and he found himself roaring into Dean's constructed nightmare. The dark creations here blasted away with the show of his power, and time seemed to hold still. Not knowing how long he might have, he shouted Dean's name as he'd done so many times before, asking over and over to let him in.

"Yes." Dean turned away from him, eyes drifting shut.

The moment of elation for this victory was dampened by the tone of Dean's acceptance. There was a finality to it that made Cas' entire being run cold. Anguish built up in him, assuming that Dean believed it was the end. And to see that shred of relief just as the man's eyes were closing was difficult for Castiel to take in.

It was unsettling, and a fraction ironic that Dean was hoping and expecting to die, and yet was now being possessed by an angel. What a fitting parallel, he mused.

Dean will never forgive me for this…

His heart sank with that knowledge but he trudged on in a desperate attempt to save someone who, evidently, no longer cared to be saved.

Opening Dean's eyes from within, he eased the body off the cold, wet ground. With a thought, his clothes dried. Dean stayed asleep in his mind, completely oblivious that Cas had taken control. Castiel hoped he could keep him that way until he found some way to restore Dean's faith in life.

Castiel considered returning to Sam, but immediately discarded the thought. Sam was still upset and had made it abundantly clear the last they spoke that he didn't think the two brothers should be near each other for some time.

Considering his options, Cas began walking in search of transportation or a hotel to spend the night. It felt strange, moving with Dean's limbs. The boots Dean wore were heavy, his jeans softened with years of wear, and a t-shirt and sweater that rank of booze and sweat.

Twenty minutes into his walk he spotted a shabby, run-down motel. Instead of going through the formality of booking a room, he walked to one on the ground floor he could tell was vacant and used his powers to unlock the door and walk through it, shutting them both inside.

Cleansing Dean of all the alcohol—alarming quantities of it—he was stumped as to what his next actions should be. He didn't want Dean to force him out but he couldn't just leave his friend in a drifting state of nothingness trapped inside his own mind.

Proceeding cautiously, he constructed a dream he remembered Dean having so long ago. Back when they were fighting the apocalypse.

It was almost funny that times were simpler then. Meg had mentioned that once. Now Castiel understood.

So much had changed. The world had become a bit darker, a bit more hopeless. Heaven had collapsed. More people that they cared about had suffered and died. Through it all, the three of them had somehow maintained a level of consistency. It was tested time and time again, but Castiel had begun to see Dean and Sam as resilient and unchanging in the face of anything.

His family…

Underneath it all, there was something more. A thread; weaving through the fabric of their lives. It was something he shared with Dean alone and it gave him hope. It was unlike anything else he'd ever experienced in the thousands upon thousands of years that he'd existed as an angel. There was depth to it, and intimacy. And somewhere he suspected… no… he _knew_ , it was more than friendship. It was more than being a guardian angel for Dean. It was like they were meant to be together somehow. In whatever capacity that togetherness existed didn't really matter to Castiel, just that it was there, present and everlasting.

The dream fabricated itself at his will and he watched Dean appear in the chair on the dock, fishing apparatus in hand. In all appearances, the man was peaceful, oblivious to Cas' presence in the fake-dream.

Approaching from behind, he presented himself in the shape of the vessel he'd come to identify with. He placed a comforting hand on his friends shoulder.

"Dean," he said softly in greeting.

The man in question whipped around. "Cas? What are you doing here?" The surprise and shock showed in the confused frown and whites around his eyes.

"You're dreaming," he lied. Although, it wasn't _entirely_ a lie. It was a fake dream, but a dream all the same.

"Oh…" Dean's eyes flicked away, disappointed with the reply.

"You thought you were dead?" he guessed, glancing down.

"'Be better if I was," Dean said. A bitter edge to his words.

The image of Dean at the loading docks, curled on the ground beside a garbage container—lifeless—splashed across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing it gone.

"No. It would not."

Not wanting to tower above his friend any longer, he squeezed Dean's shoulder once and willed a chair to appear. Easing into the wooden seat, he looked over his friend, finally meeting pained green eyes. They shared a silent exchange where many things were said and yet nothing at all.

Which was frequently the case for them.

Over the years, they'd developed a way of communicating that was different, more intimate. They said more to each other when hardly anything was said at all. Unfortunately, this time things were so far in disrepair that a simple look wouldn't be enough to solve the problems before them.

"Why do you want to die?" he questioned, not bothering to wait for an answer before continuing. "Or maybe, why is it you no longer want to live? Why are you giving up?"

"We've all made mistakes, Dean," he went on, "but it's the lives we lead, the good that we've done, and the responsibilities that we hold that have resulted in our mistakes being larger and more damaging than mistakes of common men and women. I know, it's frustrating and at times profoundly tragic, but it's fleeting in comparison to the good that you have done."

Castiel sighed as the words reflected his own inner shame for the wrongs he'd committed, but as he pushed forward, he hoped the words would heal them both.

"Your worth in this world is immense, Dean," he breathed deeply, steadying himself.

"It is _great_ and _pure_. And not just to the world, but to Sam, despite his stubborn attitude—obviously something he picked up from his brother—and also, to me. No matter what you might believe about your actions, about your effect on others, do not for _one_ second think that being without you is better for me or for Sam.

"When your brother said what he said the night you left; about what the _real_ problem was—do you know what he was referring to?" Castiel looked sideways at Dean.

Dean's red-rimmed eyes shifted over to him. He raised his eyebrows—a gesture for Cas to continue.

"Dean… your grip on family… the people you care about is so… so desperate that it backfires on you. Time and time again. And it will keep happening because all your relationships are one-sided, closed-off with a tight-lid. You only have one way of showing people you care about them and that is either fanatically keeping them alive, or dying for them. Usually the two go hand-in-hand… actually.

"You needed Sam alive because you don't know any other way to love him. Your father raised you to define yourself in a way that included Sam to such a degree that you don't know how to live in a world where he doesn't exist."

Closing his mouth, he risked a glance to his left. Dean's face was obstructed by his hands, dampness showed on the tips of his fingers. Knowing that Dean wouldn't be able to stand the scrutiny of his stare as he spoke, he turned back to the water

"Sam wants you to learn to be without him… _that_ is why he let you leave, Dean. It wasn't because he didn't want you there." Castiel paused, remembering something from long ago. "It was actually quite clever on Gabriel's behalf to teach Sam the lesson that you are now forced to learn yourself."

Hitched breaths came from Dean's throat and Cas watched helplessly, seeing the misery in his friends posture. Castiel wasn`t the best at providing comfort but he lifted his arm between them and rested it across Dean`s shoulders. The younger man shook beneath him and doubled forward, letting his head drop between his knees.

Dean's fight-roughened hands wrapped around his own head and he stayed there, closed in on himself, avoiding Castiel and his honest words.

Tentatively, he moved his palm up and down Dean`s back. The gesture was one of the more affectionate physical displays that Dean had ever allowed. It made Castiel feel powerful in a strange way. Perhaps it was because Dean didn't let anybody close to him. Not like this.

Linked by touch, time passed for them in the dream-like expanse at a lingering pace. Castiel was thankful that he`d hastily performed a holding spell on his normal vessel so that it would be unchanged upon his return—whenever that might be.

The water splashed against the pillars of the dock with dull slapping sounds and he shut his eyes, feeling the heat from Dean's back on his palm and the falsified breeze on his face.

Dean`s frame twitched, straightening up as he rubbed his hands fiercely against his face as though trying to forcibly rearrange it into something normal again.

Three big, noisy sniffs, and Dean turned his head to the side, his left hand moving to support it propped up on his knee.

"How do I fix who I am? What I've become?" Dean asked roughly, his voice scratchy and thick.

"I don't believe there's a manual for this kind of thing," he admitted, continuing to rub Dean's back as long as his friend allowed the comfort.

" _Hmph_ …" Dean exhaled with some amusement.

The change was subtle, but Cas felt it. Dean was talking at least; that had to count as some form of progress, right?

They continued to observe one another, locked into each other's gaze in a lazy way. Castiel managed the most supportive and reassuring presence he could generate.

Dean's eyes unexpectedly darted to the side, finally noticing that Cas was stroking his back. His friend didn't flinch, didn't tell him to stop, just sort of accepted it and turned back to face the water.

Exhaling some of the tension, Castiel watched the water ripple in ever-growing rings, splitting his attention between Dean and the scenery.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should push this along, figure out a way to have Dean accept that things would eventually be okay (not that Cas really knew that, of course), but at least then he could leave Dean's body and they could struggle to move on.

But for now, he was content. Nothing was truly solved. Dean still floundered, hopeless, but there was calm between them, and within Dean's soul that Castiel couldn't find it in himself to disrupt.

Naturally, in the moment of peace they'd found, he caught sight of a wavering in the air at the edge of the lake; a dark spot of malevolence that Dean's subconscious had allowed back in.

The bright daylight was swallowed into swift shadows, the air turning viscous and hot.

Dean vanished from under his palm and Castiel jumped to his feet before he'd even realized he'd moved. He should've known that Dean wouldn't stay complacent for long. The human was nothing if not stubborn.

Shaking his head with a sigh, he marched off to begin searching through Dean's subconscious trying to find where the older Winchester had retreated to.

Castiel was ashamed to say that he glimpsed into memories more than he should have as he made his way through Dean's mind. A staggering number of thoughts and memories included him; some good, some bad, some confused. Sam was the strongest presence in Dean's mind, of course, filled with love, and admiration. But the thoughts and memories for _only_ Castiel were laced with need, worry, urgency, confusion, anger and… desire.

This was not necessarily a revelation to Castiel.

Their relationship was, as it had been for some time, coalescing into something he didn't fully understand. Maybe no one was ever meant to understand these things, he mused. Every tragic event the two of them made it through, a new facet of depth and complexity emerged. One could no longer classify the relationship as … just friends. There was too much below the surface.

Sadly, Castiel didn't think Dean would or could ever move past the in-between stage they'd found themselves in.

As he passed through a nebulous memory of purgatory, his own mind pulled back to the first and only time Dean had come close to admitting they were… _something else_.

_Something more._

It gave him renewed drive and will to ensure Dean became whole again. Maybe they could find their way back to that night, when all barriers were made transparent, when truths rattled free.

/\/\/\

_Purgatory – Day 97 of 361_

Castiel had been settled against a large outcropping of rock, a better shield from the forest than his previous hiding spot.

He was grateful for the respite. Despite being a full angel again, the constant running and fighting weakened him. His ability to transport himself was hindered to a dangerous degree. So as a result, he was always on the lookout for safe places to hide and regroup.

He tried as best he could to find solace towards the evenings especially. Usually around the time he knew Dean would pray to him. He hated missing out on Dean's words because he had to fight. His friend's voice was one of the only things keeping him together. That, and the need for penance; the conviction that he deserved this existence and must therefore suffer through it.

This night was different. The air was still and the surroundings were, for the time being, safe. Castiel gave into exhaustion and curled up on a patch of spongy green vegetation.

With his eyes closed, he waited.

And waited…

His body slowly tensed, wondering if tonight would be the night Dean gave up… or worse. Seconds before coming to the decision of looking for Dean himself to make sure he was alive, he heard the human's voice in his mind.

_Cas…_

It was heartbreaking. The sadness and pain in Dean's voice made his own throat ache.

 _It's been three months. Are you even alive? Jesus… I hope you're okay. Fuck Cas, I_ need _you to be okay. I don't think you get it man... When I say that I need you… I mean, I honestly don't think I can live without you. Not here. I can't do this… Dammit… Why can't you be here, with me, right now?_

_Look, it's, uh, been a bad couple of days…_

The prayer fell silent but Dean's emotions flowed through him. He knew Dean wasn't aware what it felt like for him during these prayers, but it wasn't just the words he felt—it was everything. Every nuance of feeling that Dean experienced, so did he.

As if they were linked, he felt Dean fighting back tears. The tightness echoed in his own throat, the words being choked as they tried to find their way out.

Sometimes the prayers were short, sometimes angry or even hateful, sometimes soft and comforting, but very rarely they would be long and…particular. With those prayers, it was difficult to endure; to bear the weight of those emotions.

Tonight was one of those prayers.

_You are out there somewhere aren't you? I can feel it… You, I think. Besides, you have to be alive because if… If you're dead… I… I'm done. I'm so done. What would be the goddamn point?_

Castiel waited. This was a threat he'd heard before.

_But I keep looking. I fight every friggin' day trying to get to you. I worry too. All the fucking time…I worry. I mean, I feel like you're alive, but can you even hear me? Like right now…_

_Cas?_

_C'mon… Give me a friggin' sign. Something! Talk to me, dammit! Can't you do that?_

_Fuck! Cas, Please! You hear that? I'm fucking begging now. I'm begging! Is that what you want?!_

Dean was yelling. His emotions teetered on desperation and need.

 _Don't you get it?!_ The shouting continued. _I fucking need you! I don't give a shit where you are or what you're doing. Maybe you're lost. Maybe… shit, I don't know._

_I don't want to think about the endless reasons that you're not with me right now._

Dean became silent again, but Castiel sensed his nervousness, how exposed he felt. And being tethered so strongly to Dean's prayer in that moment, when his friend continued speaking, it felt like Dean was right beside him.

_But I can give you one reason why you should be with me…_

Castiel's heart constricted, pulling tight against his ribcage.

 _You know what it is, Cas…_ Dean continued in a soft whisper. _You know… I won't say it because you're not here and I…_ _Just please… Cas. You know you should be here, with me. Come be with me…_

Castiel saw the thoughts behind those words and his eyes stung. It took all of his willpower to remain where he was and not fly to Dean in that moment.

/\/\/\

Coming back to the present, he realized that time and ignorance had lessened the impact of those words. Dean had never brought it up and so neither had he. He'd even begun to think that the impression he'd gotten from that prayer wasn't what he'd thought and hoped it was.

Then Naomi had entered the picture and a silent, desperate prayer in a hungry, bloody, wild place seemed a lot less earth-shattering that it had originally felt.

But Dean had been very right that night. Cas _should_ be where Dean is.

Problem was, he needed to find him first, Cas thought as he continued weaving through the synapses of Dean's mind.

 


	4. Teaser

Pushing through a memory of Dean and Sam on one of their many hunts, he finally found what he was looking for. The image startled him, pained him, and he desperately hoped it had never actually happened.

Sadly, he suspected otherwise.

A young Dean lay before him on the ground, an orange and brown ratty carpet beneath him. He couldn't have been more than twelve. John Winchester stood over him shouting obscenities at the poor child. There was a swell of bright red skin on Dean's face, slowly turning purple; evidence of the violence that John had inflicted. Dean sobbed through apologies, holding an arm over his head in a pathetic attempt to shield himself from the man who should have been a better father.

John was blaming the young man for Sam having run off under Dean's care.

"I told you to watch him!" John shouted.

Castiel always thought of Dean as tough and arrogant in the face of anyone or anything attacking him but this was not _that_ Dean. This Dean was cowering under the onslaught of the accusations—allowing himself to be beaten and diminished, likely because he felt he deserved the punishment.

Striding forward with purpose, Castiel shoved the contents of the memory to a distant corner of Dean's mind. He found himself looking down at a full-grown Dean curled on the ground.

The angel crouched down beside his charge and cradled Dean's head in his palms, unsure of whether Dean still believed he was a young boy or not. He brushed the damp hair away from Dean's forehead and searched his eyes.

"Ca-as?" Dean stuttered and then turned over, flopping spread-eagle on the ground.

Cas sat back against his heels, not knowing what else he could say. It was no wonder that Dean had a hard time formulating healthy relationships—he had no basis for what one should be. Not that Castiel had any advice or recommendations on that front. He'd slaughtered much of his own family...and done even more unspeakable things. It was a wonder Dean and Sam still spoke to him.

Regardless, this wasn't about him. This was about Dean.

"Dean, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes turned away from Dean so the hunter would feel more at ease.

Dean ignored him. "Where are we?"

Castiel frowned. "In your dream," he reiterated. "Do you trust me?" This time his voice was sharper. His irritability was eased mildly by fingering along the inner seam of his tie. It wasn't his original blue tie…this one was darker. He liked it better. Though perhaps that had more to do with how he'd gotten it. It had been the night he'd shown up at the bunker to find Dean aggrieved over Kevin's death and Sam being taken by Gadreel. Before they'd left, Dean had come up to him with the tie, saying that the new look wasn't complete without it. The strongest part of the memory was Dean's fingers brushing against his neck as he'd tied it for him.

"Yeah 'course. You know I do." Dean pushed his body up enough to rest back on his elbows and looked at Cas, waiting for him to go on. There was a bit more life in his eyes than Cas had seen by the lake so hopefully things were going a bit better.

At least they didn't seem any worse.

"Do you trust me when I say that you are not poison?"

Dean scoffed, his eyes briefly closing.

"Dean, you're just…psychologically damaged," he began considerately. "You need to trust me when I say that you will, in fact, be okay. You don't need to believe it yet…just trust me to believe it for you," he added earnestly.

Dean started to laugh. Why? Cas had no idea, but since he hadn't been sure he'd ever hear the sound again, he sat there and enjoyed it for a moment.

"What in this do you find humorous?" Cas' eyebrows knitted together as he tilted his head to watch his friend throw an arm across his stomach, his eyes and mouth crinkling at the edges.

"Y-you...just c-called me... _psychologically damaged!_ " Dean barked and continued laughing in hoots, slapping a hand to his leg.

Castiel still wasn't sure why this was funny at all, but Dean's laughter was contagious and it lifted his spirits and soon his own bursts of happiness joined in. It was strange and wonderful, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Dean. He'd never been more thankful for being inadvertently funny.

In a few short seconds they were both laughing heartily; their bodies shaking, tears reactively streaming down their faces. It had been a long, long time since they'd laughed together. It felt incredible; like a weight had slid off of them (even if only temporarily).

With a great conclusive sigh, the laughter died and the quiet took over.

Abruptly, the landscape shifted. They were sitting together on dry, soft grass beneath a cloudless perfect night sky, littered with millions of white perfect stars. Cas fondly noticed the Impala parked in the distance out of the corner of his eye. He looked down between his legs at the ground and smiled—trying to hide his contentment from Dean.

Castiel hadn't caused the change in dreamscape so it had obviously been Dean (whether consciously or not) and that made Castiel hopeful. _This was good._

He felt Dean watching him; observing him with a notable intensity.

"What?" he asked, his eyes darting to the side to glance at Dean sitting cross-legged beside him. His voice lightly amused. A dim smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"So…" Dean began, listing to the side enough to bump Castiel's shoulder. "How do you like my body?" he asked, straight-faced.

What better way to reply than to choke on air, Cas thought sarcastically as he coughed in sputters. Turning his focus to the side, he shot a startled, wide-eyed look at Dean.

"Umm…?" was about all Castiel could force out of his mouth. His eyes darted around anxiously.

Shit _._

Of course, he had no idea if Dean was asking whether he "liked _"_ his body, as in its physical construction, or, if he had somehow realized that his "supposed" best friend was actually possessing him.

Either question caused issues. Castiel was embarrassed, ashamed, cornered—answering either implication would be  _revealing_.

Dean must've took notice of the building panic because his features softened, and he held Cas with his eyes.

"Cas, stop freaking… _I remember_ ," Dean clarified gently, biting his lower lip. "I know this isn't really a dream… Not exactly." He frowned faintly, confused. "Or is it? I don't know how this all works," he admitted, waving his hand about in an abstract indication. "I remember passing out—Pathetic, right?" he droned rhetorically. "I remember the alley getting brighter, but then I was back in Hell somehow and… Fuck. It felt so damn real. And then you were there. Man I was pissed. I'd thought you'd gone and risked your life to pull me outta the pit…a _gain_. But then I remembered saying yes to you…and I, uh, _felt_ you." Dean's voice caught at the end but he smiled, sucking in a thick breath.

Cas stared at his friend as he spoke, his body rigid. His breath held still as he waited for Dean to go on.

"Honestly, it felt…friggin' peaceful. Wouldn't've expected that…" Dean said nervously, rubbing a hand along the back his neck.

The dim smile Dean wore stuck around, and the two of them sat there looking oddly at one another. It took a few minutes before Castiel felt able to form real sentences.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," he muttered, bracing himself. "I didn't feel as though I had another choice." Such bittersweet words to both of them. The same line used so many times over to excuse badly chosen actions. Retreating into a sulk, he waited for Dean to expel him.

A tight grip grasping his shoulder startled him, forcing his closed eyes open. The face that dominated his field of vision was one he knew better than his own. Making matters worse, Dean had shifted closer, and his eyes seemed to hold Castiel in a strange limbo for a good few breaths.

If he were given the time, he could finally count all those freckles.

"I know, Cas... It's okay. I get it." Dean assured him. There was no trace of anger, hidden or otherwise that he could sense.

The grip of Dean's hand tightened and moved to rest across his shoulders, replicating what Cas had done by the lake. A warm line of comfort that he was tempted to sag towards, but held stiff instead.

"You're not mad? Don't you want me gone?" Knowing Dean as he did, the acceptance was difficult to believe. For the most part, Castiel was still cringing, waiting for the inevitable force to slam his grace out.

Screwing his face up, Dean spouted, " _How could I be mad!?_ It would be damn hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for doing the same damn thing I forced on Sam because I, _too_ , felt like I didn't have another choice." The harsh tone was worsened by the cruel lines of Dean's face. The man's self-hatred displayed front and centre—like it often was. It gave Castiel the sudden urge to jostle him, thrash him, and say 'It's not your fault!' but instead he watched patiently and under his sight, Dean softened; the anger waning.

The hunter twisted the ratty hem of his jeans between his fingers with the hand that was free and continued speaking, this time in a lower voice, his eyes set on the ground.

"Besides that…it's you. You're not some psycho angel. You're just m—Cas." The words were shaky and unsure. He wondered what Dean had been about to say. Would it have been "my" something? Sheer temptation to hear Dean voice Castiel as _his—_ in whatever capacity—hit him in the pit of his stomach.

A sensation he recognized as longing. Something he'd often felt from humans many times over. And, on occasion, in times of desperation, from Dean…for him.

In the silence, Cas memorized Dean's profile against the moonlight, wishing his friend had not suffered through so much. If only he could have pulled him from this life as he'd done with him from Hell. If only he could have saved him... Really, _truly_ saved him.

"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up." Dean whispered about ten minutes later. The tone was reproachful—filled with regret. Cas shook his head in exasperation.

"We're all fucked up, Dean," Cas granted, forcing a smile in his friend's direction.

"Gee… Thanks for that ray of sunshine."

Discreetly, as he spoke, Dean pulled Castiel a bit closer, their bodies now pushed flush together along their sides, right down to their hips and thighs. The gesture came off as instinctive and unplanned; like they'd done this before. They _definitely_ had not. Without a doubt, he would've remembered the feeling of Dean's side pressed up against him, the smell of him this close…the heat of his body seeping through their clothes.

"You're right though," Dean went on. "What you said before. I need to change. I need to be… _different_. Better at dealing with crap, I guess. I need to—"

"—Relax." Castiel interrupted, both as a sentence-ender and a demand. "Just relax…" He was chasing this moment; the quiet, calm night, the dream, Dean right up by his side, sitting on the ground. All he wanted was for Dean to stay beside him in this dream, to enjoy as he was.

 _I need this._ We _need this._

"Just relax, huh?" Dean cocked his head, giving a lopsided smirk. The man was evidently charmed by Cas' trivial suggestion. No earth-shattering, soul-reaffirming psychoanalytic prescriptions this time.

Relax… he thought once more, pushing the command towards Dean, feeling anything but as the moment carried on.

Tilting left, he fully met Dean's green-eyes; the connection causing everything to warp. The atmosphere in the dream thickened, growing and flexing around them like a pulse.

They were suddenly too close—maybe not close enough, Cas considered. But infinitely closer than they'd ever been. And not just _physically_ , intimately close, but in a kind of transcendent way. Not that it should be too surprising, considering they were sharing the same subconscious, but this was _different_ … This was skin-tightening, mouth-suddenly-dry, heart-hammering closeness. Castiel was inexplicably terrified.

A heated tension pushed its way between them; the erupted outcome of a million looks stretched across several years, a million remembered touches, a million private thoughts swarmed through the air between them like flashes on a spastic television screen.

The discomfort grew as the seconds passed. Dean's eyes shifted back and forth, the uncertainty in them clear as anything could be. This _vibe_ that had sprung up with a forceful surge after many years of neglect was quietly acknowledged. There was no doubt they both felt it.

Dean's stare flickered down to his lips. Cas reflexively licked them. His face felt like it was on fire, and, was he sweating? His body tightened like a spring, but for what purpose?

Nothing happened.

It seemed they didn't know what to do, or how. The world halted and, apparently, so did they. The want and need was plain as day in their weighted breaths and dark stares, closely watching each other but it became a stalemate. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break, to admit there was something _more_. Saying something like that out loud was not the Winchester way and Cas knew that. Their bad traits must've grown on him.

It was all such bad timing, too. And what if Dean rejected him? What if he'd been wrong all this time? Was this hushed, ignored, long-building concept of "them" something that could turn into a reality? In the end, Castiel doubted that very much, at least from Dean's perspective, and that set his resolve. His heart seemed to plummet, but he took a breath and began to pull back.

Feeling his retreat, Dean tightened his grip on Cas' opposite shoulder, holding him in place, forcibly keeping them breath-sharing close but stopping short of doing anything else. Dean didn't speak. Or _do_ anything. Maybe he couldn't, trapped in the same static pattern that held Castiel just the same.

As the moment dragged on, Castiel had to break through this weighted limbo. Feeling appreciative for this moment no matter what it meant, he smiled. He had Dean's affection and for that he was grateful.

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up. Slowly, languidly. Despite the long intense moment, Dean seemed to relax, the muscles over his eyes and near his jaw stretched back out, softening.

An awkward laugh bubbled up from his chest, seeing the way Dean sat there looking at him—all very lax and content. It made no sense to see this, not this close. The action wasn't forced or weird. It seemed _relaxed_ of all things, just like Cas has asked for. The break in tension made him chuckle timidly, and something more comfortable settled between them.

Dean continued to grin as Castiel laughed softly—just quiet huffs of breath and a slight tremble of his shoulders. The whole exchange between them was unlike anything else…

An entire conversation had passed in a few short moments but Cas wasn't entirely sure what had been said.

They'd spent a lot of time together over the years, and so many times they'd been on the brink of something, of a step never being taken.

This moment felt exactly like that, though exponentially stronger. And a hell of a lot more confusing.

After a few unsteady, but slowly calming breaths, Dean broke the heavy silence.

"So if you're,  _uhm_ —" Dean blushed, "—in me..." he coughed awkwardly, pausing long enough to take in Cas' broad responsive grin. "Then where is _your_ body? Or Jimmy's? You know what I mean," Dean gestured vaguely with his left hand.

"At the bunker. It's protected," he answered. Castiel found himself unable to hold back his blatant staring. Their silent conversation had shaken something loose and it refused to be put away again.

"Oh." Dean turned to the movement of the trees and grass as the fake dream-like wind pushed everything around. "Good," Dean tacked on with a slight nod of his head, his thumb grazing in a quick back and forth pattern at the side of Cas' neck. Such a small gesture shouldn't leave a trail of fire in its wake, but that was exactly how it felt.

"Dean," he said gently, reluctant to break this moment. "I really do think it is a good idea for you and Sam to live apart for a while, _but_ …that doesn't mean I think you should be alone. I can stay with you…wherever you plan to be," he suggested nervously. _If you want…_

_If you'll have me._

It was no doubt selfish to offer this. Dean wasn't the only Winchester brother who needed him. Sam required further healing, but looking at Dean, his choice between the two was already cemented in his gut. Though, in his defense, Dean was clearly the more inadvertently suicidal of the two. Besides, it wasn't that Dean and Sam needed to remain separated indefinitely, they could visit each other (as they should), but it probably wasn't the best thing for them to spend every waking moment together as they had for the last three-plus decades. Clearly _that_ had been problematic, he considered, amused by his own thoughts.

" _Cassss_?" Dean teased his name in one drawn-out syllable, bringing him back to their moment. "Are you saying you want to move in with me?" A swaggering grin was unleashed on him and if he'd been standing, he probably would have buckled.

"I…I…umm…I just—" Cas sputtered stupidly.

"—Chill, I'm just teasing you," Dean cut in. The hand resting on Castiel's shoulder stroked downwards along his arm. "I want you around too, Cas."

The touch warmed him to his core and all the things Cas wanted and tried not to think about broke free. It was time he should be leaving Dean, but now, the thought of it filled him with ripe aversion.

"I, uh, I find that I don't want to go," he admitted. He should be ashamed for staying here longer than he needed to. Dean seemed to be okay. Maybe not _okay_ …but _stable_.

"What's it like? You know…possessing me?" Dean considered him seriously. It was still puzzling that Dean had thus far not shown one iota of discomfort for the fact that Castiel was currently taking over his body.

"It's strange, I guess." Castiel gazed out over the landscape. "But mostly because it's you. I feel like I'm perversely invading something Holy and—" In trying to explain, Dean interrupted by tugging a chunk of his hair, forcibly turning him so they were face-to-face.

"— _Holy_?!" Dean barked on a laugh.

The lips that caught Castiel's eye spread slowly into a strange smile that made his stomach feel unsettled. It reminded him of the smile Dean had unleashed on him back when they'd been at the bar over a month ago and Dean had been saying something about _hook-ups_ and _perfection_ … Cas could hardly remember the rest of the conversation from the way Dean had stared at him.

With no forewarning, Dean's smile vanished. His hand gripped the fistful of Cas' hair a little more stiffly, and used it as leverage to pull him in until they were no more than an inch apart.

_Heaven Help Me…_

Castiel panicked, affected profoundly by a shiver elicited from Dean tugging his hair. His breath turned rapid and for a split-second he thought: _This is it_.

"Cas, _nothing_ about my body is Holy. I can promise you that." Deans' eyes darkened considerably, his voice just as deep. It sent a tremor through Cas' dream-fabricated form and he had the impulsive urge to close up that horrendous gap between them. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, realizing for the first time the true strength of desire. He'd never imagined it would be so crippling.

Dean tilted his head down a fraction, his eyelids drifting shut, his breath warm against Cas' lips. Before Dean's lips grazed his own, Castiel freaked and disappeared.

Startled, Dean fell forwards to the ground, catching himself on his arms before he face-planted the grass.

Re-appearing a few feet away, Castiel stood mutely. _For the most part_ , he corrected, save for the embarrassing, uncontrollable pants for air. His chest puffed out and in as he stared wide-eyed at Dean on the ground.

The human in question glared upwards, more than a little aggravated it appeared.

"Jesus Cas! _What the hell_!?" Dean threw his arms in the air. His cheeks were pink and he was breathing rough too. Thankfully, Dean's embarrassment seemed to make way in favour of irritation.

"It's just…uhm…if what I think was about to happen…was _actually_ about to happen, I would sincerely prefer we were not in your head." Castiel hastily supplied in explanation and hoped he hadn't screwed things up.

Dean looked up at him blankly, so he added, "I want it to be real…" in a whisper.

The first shy, faint smile broke across Dean's face. "Right. Right. Yeah…uh…me too. Sorry."

Dean nervously glanced down and then jumped up to his feet in a swift motion, shaking his body in the process as though trying to dispel the weird _almost_ kiss.

It hit Castiel full-force, his eyes widening... He and Dean almost kissed.

 _Kissed_!

"How long will it take you to get here? Or wherever I am," Dean asked with sudden excitement, tacking on suspiciously: "Where even am I?"

Doing a little shake-off himself, Cas answered. "A motel, but I didn't pay. Actually, I didn't check in at all so you probably can't stay here very long."

A part of him could still feel the bed beneath Dean's body, the stale motel air, the darkness and quiet.

The anticipation between them started to build all-over again as they thought of their imminent reconnection. The growing nervous energy was nearly a visible substance in the dream. The breeze, which had been dull, picked up.

"Right… So, uh, how about we meet halfway?" suggested Dean. Castiel watched, amused, as Dean fidgeted. The man's vivid green eyes were unable to stay focused on any one thing for longer than a second.

Agreeing with a nod, Castiel walked the short distance to Dean, stopping with barely a foot between them. He didn't dare get any closer.

"I'll see you soon then…" Castiel said; coming out as more of a demand than a promise. There was a small, anxious part of him that worried this was all a well-conceived lie to get rid of him so that Dean could go off and self-destruct in peace—somewhere that Castiel wouldn't be able to find him this time.

The concern must have shown in the creases of his forehead because Dean virtually discarded of all the remaining space between them and put his warm, big hands on either side of Castiel's face to hold him still, forcing his head straight, gently tilted up.

"Hey…look at me," said Dean.  _Gladly_ , Castiel thought, focusing on the spectrum of green in his eyes. "Cas, I _promise_ you that I will not go off and get myself ganked in a blaze of flaming glory when you vacate my hot piece of ass. Okay?" Dean grinned crookedly, staring at him.

He managed a disjointed nod, mostly distracted by the lack of air between them, feeling Dean's muscled thighs pressed against his own. Even though Dean held his face a set distance away (presumably so they could actually converse), their hips were provocatively close. Dean's body was curved in towards him and Castiel couldn't help that his gaze flashed down.

Dean snickered. "So you _do_ like my body?!" he teased.

Castiel cheeks flamed red, which he hadn't imagined was possible in this dream-state, but he'd been wrong.

 _Obviously_.

In fact, everything about this fake-dream was bewildering and unexpected. That included Dean himself. Maybe it was because they were both occupying the same mind, the same body, maybe it was the innate closeness in that context. Either way, Dean had never been like this with him, and he'd never ventured to test the boundaries of their friendship before—strained as it could be. Whatever the reason for lax boundaries, Castiel felt gifted that where he'd expected anger or distrust resulting from his panic-induced actions of possessing Dean, he instead got closer to what he wanted, something he never thought he could have.

"How about this?" Dean put forward, interrupting his inner monologue of revelations. "The sooner you leave, the sooner we can meet back up… And the sooner you can… _uh_ …get inside me again." Dean grinned wickedly, licking his lips to try and dampen the smile.

"… _Sort of_ ," he added after a seconds' thought.

Quirking an eyebrow, passing a quick tongue over his bottom lip, Castiel stared in utter confusion. Why would Dean want to be possessed again? Did he find it pleasant?

"Why would you wa—"

A hand slapped over his mouth. Dean gave him a hard, long look, his eyes beseeching Cas to think on that some more. And he would have, had that hand not felt sensual, and therefore immensely distracting.

This unhindered, novel, and _frequent_ touching that was evidently permitted was hard to acclimate to. Cas' body whacked out from sensory overload and he had to force his brain to repeat what Dean had said: " _Inside me again..."_

Watching the flavour of mischief on Dean's face gave him all the answer he needed.

As realization dawned, Cas' eyebrows practically ascended off of his face in shock at the barefaced invitation. It was just so daringly forward and though Castiel might've been a little thick when it came to sexual interest, Dean's audaciousness was still unexpected.

Having watched Dean over the years with women, the bold advance wasn't too unheard of…but there was no denying this was different. They were friends, and Castiel was, for all intents and purposes, a man. And of course, Dean had never propositioned him before.

The man dominating his thoughts winked at him and Castiel turned red, wondering at what point his face would simply explode. Trying to force the temperature of his blood down was useless. He opted to hold himself rigid and still, mouth in a tight line, hands and arms stiff at his sides.

"K, time to go." Dean stepped back, pushing Cas by the shoulders to widen the gap between them.

Grimacing with the cold air that took Dean's place, Castiel looked across the two feet and frowned. Dean offered him a sympathetic smile, reaching up to brush a thumb against his jaw in quick motion.

"Go," Dean repeated, softer.

Holding onto the promise of more, of something real: _Lips_ , and _skin_ , and other things _real_ , he backed further away. His body filled with a strange mixture of panic and exhilaration.

Nodding once, incapable of actual words, he collected himself in a fluid motion and moved out of Dean's soul, surging out of the familiar body that he left lying on the motel room bed.

He glanced back once as he let his essence float, memorizing the look on Dean's face before he woke.

It was calm.

Castiel knew it wouldn't be long before they would see each other, but after what felt like weeks inside of Dean's mind, any separation from that level of closeness was going to feel like a dull, cold, pit. Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, he reasoned.

Surely everything would be okay.

/\/\/\

Dean woke on the bed feeling refreshed—like he'd spent the week at a spa. He didn't move, didn't even bother to flex his fingers.

He thought back on all that happened, finding his thoughts to be a total mess. His emotions were so...all over the damn place. Dean imagined that this must be what bipolar people feel like. Torn in two, or three, or four…

He flipped between wanting to off himself, cry like a friggin' baby, or lock himself in the bathroom and jack-off violently to the image of Cas' flushed face, his mouth hanging open, his eyes dark and excited.

It was like a twisted carnival Merry-Go-Round of WTF.

Dean ran a hand through his short hair, surprised at the softness, considering he'd spent a good while lying in a fucking alley—God, the shame in that was immense. Clearly Cas must've mojo'd him sober and clean. Which only made him feel a shit-ton worse.

Knowing Cas had seen him that low was downright embarrassing. Then again, it was probably nothing compared to what Cas might have seen inside his noggin. God knows what Cas had stumbled across in there—Dean was all too aware of the bat-shit crazy he had going on in his head.

 _Shit_ … What had he been thinking, anyway?! This wasn't him. All that _'woe-is-me'_ crap was for douchey-emo-dickwads.

So he fucked up! BFD. _Right_?

Shit happens…as the bumper-sticker claimed. He needed to get his damn act together.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up. The room was dark and quiet, reflecting how alone he was. _Again_ with the emo-crap! He wanted to mentally slap himself for being so goddamned needy. 'Cause that's what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Deep-down, though he'd never admit it, he was so desperately lonely that the thought of being in this shit-hole of a world without his brother was unthinkable.

But Cas had been right—Sam didn't need that kind of cling-wrap. Ya know…set them free and all that… _whatever._

Grow-up, Dean thought to himself. _Be a man_. Show Sam that you can be a better family for him.

And on that note, he added, maybe show Cas you aren't a dick. Or a coward. Dean tried not to lose his mind thinking about all that had happened in the privacy of his head. They'd leapt off the proverbial cliff and there was no going back…at least not without repercussions.

Dean would do his best. He would try. He owed them that.

Digging into his pocket, he grasped his phone. Hands were shaky, but no one was around to witness that. Cas' contact was the first he pulled up. Faced with the blank screen and touchable keyboard, he typed slowly: "Can't wait to see u… for real. Wanted u to know that."

Dean puffed his cheeks, blowing out a breath and then hit send. Rolling off his sudden upstanding psychological behaviour, he pulled up Sam's contact and tapped absently on the smooth surface trying to decide what to say. He should call, of course, but…you know…baby steps.

"Hey Sammy… I'm sorry, u know, for everything. And I shouldn't have left."

After hitting send on that message he re-pocketed his phone, used the bathroom quickly, and headed out the door quietly so hopefully the front office wouldn't see him and accuse him of squatting. A quick cab ride later and he was back at his original motel room across town, his baby parked by the front door.

He was halfway done packing his stuff when his phone dinged. It was a message from Cas: "Me too. Sam saw your message. He's being stubborn (I believe this to be a Winchester trait). Give him time. Send him another message in a little while."

Dean locked the phone, nursing the hurt that Sam was purposely not responding but decided he could be patient.

When he was packed, he walked out of the room and stopped to stare at the sun breaching the horizon creating a dull glow over the landscape. It was hard to believe that his drunken, idiotic (and potentially dangerous) stupor had been less than twelve hours ago. It seemed like months had passed between then and now...and shit, maybe it had? In the crazy hallways of his brain who knew what time meant there. Hadn't he heard somewhere that a dream can feel like hours and yet only last in actual time for something like seven minutes? The thought triggered a memory of 'Seven Minutes in Heaven' from when he was fourteen and he couldn't stop the comparison between making out with Jenny and almost making out with Cas... Dean decided ultimately that Cas being an angel and everything had a better run at the whole ' _Heaven'_ part of that game.

Shit. Almost kissing Cas? Dean paused by the door of his car, hand on the hood holding his cell. Jesus Fuck...

With a big-ass breath, and a necessary head-shake, he forced from his mind the imagery that kept cropping up for attention as it all nestled into the cracks of the pleasure-centres of his mind. He threw his duffel into the back and plopped down into the driver's seat. The door creaked as he pulled it shut and he started his baby, rejoicing in the rumbling sound of her engine.

Before reversing out, he texted Cas again. They were a good twelve hours apart now and Dean had a head start getting to the halfway point so he figured he'd just drive until he decided to stop and tell Cas where he was. "I'll let u know where I end up, okay?" After a moment's hesitation, he added: "Hurry up…"

Pathetic, he chastised himself, but still desperate enough to send it. He was trying to be okay, to be _normal_ , but he just wasn't all the way there yet. Hitting rock bottom, or what he thought was rock-bottom at the time, had made him want to change.

He hadn't a friggin' clue how to go about doing that though.

How do you mold yourself into a better person? Regardless, it was about damn time that he tried. _Clean up your mess_ , right? That's what he'd said to Cas when the angel had made a colossal mistake.

Take your own damn advice, Winchester.

His phone dinged once as he was pulling onto the freeway and then again five minutes later. When he settled into a lane and the traffic seemed steady enough, he checked his phone.

It was from Sam. "No. You shouldn't have. I'm still pissed but call me when you get a chance. Let me know you're not dead. And Cas is being weird."

Dean was surprised to see the message from Sam but reading the words, seeing his brother's name on the screen eased a weight from his chest that he hadn't known had been so heavy. He expanded his lungs, enjoying the absence of that tight restriction he'd been living with for days, maybe months.

"Oh, c'mon!" Dean shouted at the slow car in front of him, swerving round to pass, and got resettled in a lane. The road wouldn't pass by fast enough for him.

The second text had been from Cas. "Patience, Dean. Are you familiar with the concept?"

No, he thought, huffing a laugh through his nose. He had his arm half-extended to drop the phone on the passenger seat when another text from Cas popped on the screen. "I'll admit though I feel restlessly eager. Human travel is infuriatingly slow."

Yes it was, Dean agreed silently. He had no damn clue what he planned to do when he and Cas were in the same room—that was a _'Level One: Freak-Out_ ' kind of situation. But like anything else, he would force himself to figure it out. Besides...he had an unopened bottle of whiskey in the trunk so that would probably pave the way a little bit. Then he considered how things might go when he saw Sam again... That encounter was going to be about as fun as a trip to the dentist. Things were about to get weird and difficult, but taking the easy way out was no longer an option.

Grow up and nut-up.

"And so begins the Dean Winchester journey to mental health _,_ " he said to himself, half-sarcastically, reaching across to the glove compartment to grab a Metallica tape, flipping it the right way in his fingers and then pushed it into the tape-deck.

The pattern of drums and bass and _awesomeness_ filled the Impala and he forced a smile and sang along until the smile was real.

* * *

 

 _And the road becomes my bride_  
I have stripped of all but pride  
So in her I do confide  
And she keeps me satisfied  
Gives me all I need

 _And with dust in throat I crave_  
_Only knowledge will I save_  
_To the game you stay a slave_

 _Roamer, wanderer_  
_Nomad, vagabond_  
_Call me what you will_

 _But I'll take my time anywhere_  
_Free to speak my mind anywhere_  
_And I'll redefine anywhere_

 _Anywhere I roam_  
_Where I lay my head is home_

_(And the earth becomes my throne)_

_And the earth becomes my throne_  
_I adapt to the unknown_  
_Under wandering stars I've grown_  
_By myself but not alone_  
_I ask no one_

 _And my ties are severed clean_  
_Less I have the more I gain_  
_Off the beaten path I reign_

 _Roamer, wanderer_  
_Nomad, vagabond_  
_Call me what you will_

 _But I'll take my time anywhere_  
_I'm free to speak my mind anywhere_  
_And I'll never mind anywhere_

_…_

 


	5. Endless Roads

It took less than five minutes to return to his normal vessel and he sat up in an abrupt motion causing the bed to creak from his sudden movement. He heard Sam's heavy boots making way quickly down the hall towards his room.

"Cas!" Sam shouted, rounding the corner. "What the hell?! You were like…comatose! I didn't know what to do and I couldn't move your body—I couldn't do anything, so I just left you there and—"

"Sam…it's fine," he cut in. "I just needed to see Dean." Castiel thought better than to tell Sam everything.

"It was simply faster this way. I apologize for not telling you what I was doing." He moved off the bed and out into the hallway, passing Sam and gesturing for the younger Winchester to follow. "I need to leave for a while. We should heal you some more before I go," he spoke as they made their way into the library.

"Go where?" Sam asked, running a hand through his chin-length hair, pausing mid-way as if finally clueing in to something. "Wait… what do you mean: 'faster this way'?" The younger Winchester asked suspiciously.

"As in, my grace; it can travel through space at a speed—"

"Yeah, Cas. I get that," Sam stared plainly, "I mean… did you just go and possess some random guy?" Sam asked incredulously. The situation obviously reminded him of his most recent experience. The distaste was clear in his face.

"Not exactly…" Castiel responded, feeling uncomfortable and uncertain of how much to divulge. He considered Sam to be a good friend—family even—but what was going on with Dean was… _delicate_. And the brothers' relationship was strained enough. Castiel didn't want to make it any worse.

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam demanded, his voice rising. "What did you do?!"

Castiel sighed in resignation, mildly irritated. "Sam…your brother was having a difficult time and he needed immediate assistance. So I… _went_ to him."

"Went to him?" Sam repeated.

" _Yes_ ," he gritted out between his teeth.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Well, _Sam_ , you're not exactly being forthcoming in what it is you are trying to ask me but I will tell you regardless. Yes. I possessed your brother." Sam's jaw jutted as he ground his teeth, his eyes filling with anger, but Cas went on, "As you are aware, permission is required and Dean said yes. He had no issue with my being there. With him, in that way I mean." In fact, he thought, Dean hadn't been bothered in the least. He'd even gone as far to say that it made him feel peaceful. Of course, Castiel didn't say any of that. The memories teased a smile from within but he suffocated the feeling knowing that it would bother the younger Winchester. The whole possession thing was still very much a touchy subject.

"No way." Sam challenged, his mouth forming a hard line. "Dean would never agree to that. And no offense…but _especially_ not with you."

The words sliced through him with unexpected hurt. His face fell and his stomach twisted. He had no idea why Sam would say such a thing. Cas tried not to let it bother him, especially after everything that had happened with Dean, but the icy tone and surety of Sam's voice was impossible to ignore.

"Why would you say that?" he asked in a low, dejected voice.

Sam frowned. "Cas…" he said empathetically, "That's not what I mean. I'm sorry—that came out wrong."

Castiel felt a large hand on his back; warm and comforting and he turned to look at Sam, whose face showed regret.

"Look, what I mean is…" Sam paused, appearing uncertain about his next words.

"What?" Cas insisted absently, still replaying the earlier words in his head: " _Especially not with_ you _."_

"I don't want to cause any problems or make things awkward," Sam quieted again. "Shit. Cas, don't you know?" The brother shot him a pitiful look, filled with sadness. It didn't exactly make him feel any better.

"No, Sam. I have _no_ idea why you think Dean would be so against me _specifically!"_ he replied in a clipped voice, growing more and more upset by the insinuation that Dean disliked him so much.

"Cas… Dean _cares_ about you. I mean…like… _a lot_."

With renewed interest, he glanced up, waiting for the rest.

"When I said what I said before…I meant that he just wouldn't want you of all people in his head… ya know? Because it's Dean, and he would be terrified of you finding out about how he really feels."

Relief was instant. _Yes_ , he thought, confirmation of what I already know. Castiel smiled widely, knowingly.

"Oh," he responded with a grin. "I understand now. Yes, I suppose it would make sense to think that."

Castiel let his thoughts wander back to his time in Dean's body and mind, replaying every moment—the good ones anyhow. He must have drifted out of the conversation because he was suddenly aware of Sam's hand on his shoulder, shaking it lightly to get his attention.

"So…uh…are you okay? I mean…I have to ask, what was it like in Dean's head?" Sam asked, his anger gone but curiosity piqued.

Castiel pressed his lips together, biting the insides of them. He didn't particularly like the direction of this conversation. It was not his place to fix their relationship. He would help in the ways he could, but he wasn't about to play a medium between their attempts to "get" each other.

" _Sam_." he chided, rolling his eyes up to meet the younger brother.

"C'mon Cas, he's my brother! I have a right to know what's going on with him," Sam demanded.

"Then perhaps you should ask him," he replied tersely.

"You know it doesn't work that way. When does he ever give a straight answer to anything?"

Sam's question posed a convincing argument in his favour. Cas was all too aware of Dean's limitations and inability to admit his feelings, especially as they related to his own discomfort and torments.

The second he was about to respond with some retort, his phone made a noise from his pants' pocket. Sam grew expectant, knowing only his brother would be contacting Castiel. Only the two brothers had his number.

"Can't wait to see u… for real. Wanted u to know that."

The smile that overtook him was forceful and bright. He couldn't hide or hinder it.

Sam noticed.

"What did Dean write?" Sam tried to arch over to see the screen but Castiel pulled it away selfishly. He didn't care that it was rude but Dean's message was for him alone.

"The message was not for you." Castiel was a bit taken aback by the childish tone of his words.

Sam frowned but it didn't hold out as his own phone made itself known with a short harmony of pings. Sam raised it up, and his earlier frown cemented itself as he read the message. In an angry motion, the younger Winchester locked the screen and re-pocketed his phone without replying. Cas knew the message had been from Dean. He was proud of him for reaching out. It was unfortunate that Sam wasn't ready to talk to his brother yet.

Guess it was back to the business at hand. He was eager to get on the road.

"As I was saying before, I'm leaving to meet up with Dean. We should heal you before I go." Castiel stood up from the seat he'd been in and moved a hand to touch Sam's forehead who pointedly moved out of the way.

"Wait…so are you and Dean going to be like…hunting together?" Sam wondered. Castiel sensed a note of jealousy but didn't comment on it.

"I believe that is what we will do at some point, but in all honesty, I believe right now Dean just needs company. Someone to make sure he doesn't become so consumed with self-hatred that he gets himself killed…" Cas' voice trailed off as he saw the memory of Dean helpless, unconscious, and vulnerable in the alley.

"Your brother can't be alone." And it was a sad reality.

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem, actually." Sam said bitterly, his posture stiff.

Castiel sighed, hanging his head impatiently. "I _know_ your brother was selfish with what he did, but right now you're being petulant and stubborn just like him. I know that you have lost your faith in him as your brother, that you feel you can't trust him anymore to do what is right for you but you're punishing him, basically, for loving you too much. Maybe you need to ease up a bit and do something a little more proactive to fix the relationship that's been damaged not just by Dean but by both of you." Castiel explained, watching Sam's frame shrink from the weight of his words.

"So…how are you getting there?" Sam asked, directly ignoring everything that he'd said.

Castiel huffed a breath but otherwise didn't comment. "I was hoping you might help me find a car as mine seems to be in need of repair. And if you wouldn't mind I would like to bring some weapons and other necessities."

Dean, of course, had plenty in the way of an arsenal but it couldn't hurt to have some of his own. Of all the things he wanted to be to Dean, useless was not one of them. Even though he was an angel now, or at least as much of one as he could be, history had proven that he shouldn't rely on his angel given abilities—they could be taken or muted at any moment and he needed to be prepared.

Sam nodded. "Yeah…for sure. I'll help you get stocked." He made a move to turn and walk away, but Cas grabbed his wrist.

"Let me heal you first."

Cas gestured for Sam to sit. When he did, Castiel grabbed a chair of his own and turned it so they were facing each other. With their knees touching, he leaned forward and rested a hand on Sam's forehead; whose eyes fell shut.

Despite Sam's attitude as of late, Castiel was still sympathetic to his feelings and he knew that, in secret, Sam looked forward to the healings. He found comfort in the relaxation it gave him, and if Castiel could provide no other ease for his friend, he was happy to give this.

Light emanated from his palm as the lines in Sam's face relaxed. His hands settled on his thighs, and a sigh escaped his slack mouth.

When it was done, Castiel lowered his hand, resting it on his own leg over the right pocket, feeling the hard lump that was his phone. He fingered the outlines of the device…his only tangible connection to Dean for another several hours.

Sam slowly opened his eyes and said nothing, watching him with a peculiar intensity.

"Did something happen with you and Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Avoiding Sam's penetrating gaze in an attempt to shield his reaction, he did exactly what he'd hoped to avoid; easily giving himself away.

But Sam afforded him a measure of dignity, and didn't push the topic. He couldn't say anything. Not now. And not because he didn't think Sam should know, a part of him _wanted_ Sam to know. Castiel would have been delighted to share his bourgeoning joy with someone he cared for, but any ground that he and Dean had gained was on the smallest of footings and could easily crumble. Telling Sam would make it real in a sense and that was something Castiel was not ready to give into yet.

"Never mind. Not my business." Sam got up. "I'll start pulling some stuff together for you." And with that, the younger Winchester exited the library leaving Castiel to himself.

He promptly pulled the phone out of his pocket and replied to Dean. He wasn't sure if telling Dean that Sam was actively ignoring his message was a good move or not, but he didn't want to lie either.

Castiel walked back to his room and pulled a bag from the closet to take some of the things with him that he'd collected. It wasn't much; a spare set of clothes (just in case), his fake FBI ID, a book that he'd been reading earlier in the week. He then moved on to Dean's room to grab a couple shirts and other clothing items. The man's hasty departure the week before meant he likely didn't have much with him.

Zipping the bag closed, his phone alerted him of a new message, and he grinned wide because that sound was now synonymous with Dean. The noise repeated itself before Castiel could turn on the screen.

"I'll let u know where I end up, okay?"

"And hurry up…"

Castiel chuckled at the eagerness and couldn't wait to reunite with this man that he'd become so attached to.

/\/\/\

Sam had two black duffels open and each were partially filled with guns, knives, ammo, salt containers, lighters, silver, some standard spell-work ingredients, and whatever else he felt was necessary.

He'd been replaying the whole thing over and over in his mind. The conversation with Cas had been frustrating. He knew there was a lot Cas wasn't telling him. A part of him was sad to be left out of it, and a larger part of him knew he should be worried about his brother.

Like, _really_ worried. For Cas to go off and possess Dean, the situation had to have been dire.

But mostly, he was bothered by the suspicion that maybe some major thing had just happened in his brother's life and he'd missed it.

And then it occurred to Sam: What if he _had_ died? What if Dean had never tricked him into saying yes to Gadreel? Would Dean's grief have driven him mad? What would've become of Dean and Castiel's relationship if Sam had been gone?

He'd known for a long time that Dean cared about Cas in the not-so-brotherly-love kind of way, not that he'd ever expected Dean to own up to it. Had his brother done just that? Was that why Cas was goofy-happy to receive a simple text from Dean? The angel had lit up like a damn Christmas tree. It had been the most genuine smile he'd ever seen on the guy.

One thing that Cas had said resonated a truth that Sam couldn't ignore. It had taken both him and his brother to fuck up their relationship and even though this most recent tragedy was on Dean—the accumulation of their problems had been fuelled by both of their actions over the years.

This realization was what forced Sam to take out his phone and send a message to his older brother. Of course, he was desperate to ask Dean what had happened between him and Cas, but he knew Dean would lie anyway so there was no point. He settled for hinting that Cas was being obvious about it—one way or another.

Ten minutes later, he and Cas met back up in library, the angel with his small bag, and Sam dropping two heavy black ones on the ground with a thud.

"So you're off then?" he said sadly, wishing that he hadn't been such terrible company the entire time Cas had been here—maybe the angel wouldn't be looking so eager to take off if that had been the case. Then again, Sam thought, maybe there was whole other reason for that eagerness. The notion made him smile and Castiel cocked his head curiously.

"Ya know," Sam started, "I think you and Dean hunting together is a great idea." And it was the truth. His brother was all kinds of dependent, but still, Sam was glad that he wouldn't be alone.

Cas smiled innocently, nodding his head in agreement.

"How about we go find you some transportation?" he suggested, leaning down to pick up the bags as they made their way out of the bunker.

It hadn't taken long to find the right beat-up junk-box. Dad had taught he and Dean well, 'Always go for certain types', he'd said. The cars they could tell criminals used, or were previously stolen vehicles. People never reported those kinds of cars.

The car they ended up getting for Cas was an old, gray Toyota Tercel, backseat littered with tiny, empty plastic baggies.

 _Perfect_.

The car was packed and the driver door open with the car running, the two were left standing and staring at each other—the imminent goodbye hanging in the air.

"Come here." Sam threw his arms around Cas' frame. The angel stood limply in the embrace. Sam groused, "Cas, this is where you hug back," he reminded his friend.

"Oh... Right." Castiel clued in, closing his arms around Sam's bigger body.

It was a little awkward but Castiel was family and Sam didn't know when he would see him next, so he squeezed a bit tighter and then released the hug, patting Cas on the back as he retreated from the guy's personal space.

"Goodbye Sam." Cas eyed him in such a way that Sam felt like he was under a microscope and he just knew that Castiel was silently reminding him of everything they'd spoken about.

When the car was out of sight, Sam began walking back, deep in thought.

He spent the entire journey thinking about what his next move should be. As he made his way through the bunker door and became faced with a large empty space, he still hadn't a clue what to do with himself.

/\/\/\

Castiel was an hour out when he felt the urge to call Dean. He tried to ignore it, knowing that they would see each other in a few hours, but after looking at the same repetitive landscape rolling by, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He placed the call out of as much desire for Dean as a result of boredom from the terribly bleak drive.

"Hey." Dean's voice was muddled.

"Are you eating?" asked Castiel, knowing the sound of Dean's garbled voice when his mouth is stuffed with food.

"Yeah! Found a bag in the back with some leftover muffins that I'd picked up the other day."

Cas could hear crinkling in the background of a bag being opened or closed. He smiled— _This_ was the Dean he knew.

"So how long you been on the road?" Dean asked after loudly swallowing into the phone.

"An hour. You?"

"Three."

Silence stretched between them. It wasn't exactly a comfortable one.

"I wish I could fly." Castiel said a moment later.

"I wish I could get your grace back and chop up Metatron into fish-food sized pieces." Dean said in return. It was a shared sentiment.

"I'm on board with that plan," he agreed enthusiastically. "Dean, may I ask you something?" Cas shifted in his seat nervously.

"I-I don't really want to do this on the phone, Cas." Dean warned. The tension there was plain as day.

"No, not about…us," he clarified.

" _Okaaaaay_..." Dean lingered on edge; not a surprise, considering what the last day and a half had been like.

"The memory I saw of your father—"

"—Cas, please, just drop it," Dean cut in, his voice thick.

"Dean." Castiel didn't relent. Despite getting nothing but silence for two whole minutes.

Eventually, a long sigh came across the line. "Look, he did the best he could, okay? I'm not exactly volunteering the guy for dad-of-the-year or anything that's for sure, but he was…damaged and…" Dean's voice trailed off. Cas could tell he was struggling for words.

"And maybe, _maybe_ I can understand that," Dean finished.

They were both quiet again, each driving, listening to the hum over the line.

After a few minutes, Dean cleared his throat. "I'm gonna let you go before we say anything else, alright? I just need to keep driving… Clear my head before I see you. I don't want to be…I don't know. You get it, right?"

"I understand," Cas said. His frame sank against the seat. "You'll call when you get somewhere?"

"Of course. I, uh, meant what-what I said before. I want-I'm looking forward t-to seeing you." Dean seemed to struggle with his words, his voice turning curt with impatience. This nervousness was much more like the Dean that Castiel had been expecting in the dream. It was oddly reassuring.

"Me too," he said and hung up, holding the phone tight in his fist. The call only lasted about fifteen minutes; he still had six hours to go in the drive. It was going to be a long day, he thought. Not just the drive, but figuring things out with Dean, he was sure, would be taxing.

It wouldn't be that long before he would find out just how very long this day would turn out to be. How deeply etched into his soul the memories of the next hours, and days, and months would sear themselves.

So many scars began here. And he wished he'd known. If he had, he wouldn't have hung up that phone.


	6. An Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure you've read the tags and warnings for this story.

A few hours later, Dean finally pulled the car into a motel just outside of St. Louis, Illinois. It had taken him about five hours from where he'd been in Ohio. With Cas driving from Kansas, and roughly two hours behind him, _maybe_ an extra half hour since he was on the other side of St. Louis, it wouldn't be that long now.

 _Whew... just breathe, man_. Oxygen in. CO2 out.

Dean exited the car, the door creaking as he slammed it shut. His hands trembled annoyingly as he shoved the keys into his pocket. Once all his stuff was in the room, he settled down at the end of the bed.

He'd stopped to get some necessities on the way into town, mostly food and drinks. But for ten long-ass minutes, he'd stood staring at a spot down one particular aisle feeling like a god-damned teenager. He'd been faced with condoms, lube, pregnancy tests, and little vibrating toys (shocked those things were sold at drugstores now). The whole experience set off a pounding headache at the back of his head. All the energy in him bubbled up anxiously to the point where he felt like he was humming, or fuck, vibrating like one of those fucking toys.

Over and over, Dean would extend his arm upwards to grab the bottle, and just shy of the thing, he'd lower his arm again. "Coward," he said aloud at one point. A dude walking past had eyed him strangely. God, what was that saying? ' _If you're too immature to buy condoms you shouldn't be having sex?'_ That probably applied to lube as well. _Fuck!_ —Or not to fuck, as the case may be.

Dean ran a hand down his face, bounced on his feet a little as if he were in the boxing ring, gearing himself up for a fight, and then reached out blindly and grabbed whatever bottle made its way into his grasp—hoping to holy hell it wasn't something weird.

He threw it in with the rest of his purchases and made his way to the cash. He fidgeted the whole way to the check-out, and all the way through paying for the stuff, and then finally, when he was safely in the driver's seat of the Impala, he released a long, shaky breath.

"Wow, you're an idiot," he'd said in the silence of the car.

That's when it had really hit him—he was nervous. Totally and completely dry-mouthed, churning-stomach kind of nervous.

Now, he was sitting on the bed—the only bed in the room—waiting.

"I'm gonna throw up." Yup.

And shit, not even because the idea of Cas…and _him_ ….in that unholy context disgusted him—it didn't at all. It was more that it _fucking_ terrified him. Dean had never done anything like that before. And that statement didn't just apply to the fact that Cas was a friggin' dude either. Dean had _never_ crossed that boundary with a friend. Ever. Not that he'd had many close friends to provide him with the opportunity, but still. It came close with Jo…but, well, she died.

He was nervous. He was scared. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and run the fuck away as fast as he possibly could. The unopened whiskey was sitting on the table by the door and it was staring at him, glaring as best as a bottle can: _Open me!_ It was practically shouting at him.

But he didn't. This was an impressive feat all on its own, Sam would be proud. Besides, Cas probably wouldn't be too pleased if Dean was three sheets to the wind by the time he got here. The angel would probably mojo it gone anyway and then he'd have to answer as to why he felt the need to get drunk in the first place.

As the urge to beat feet out the door grew strong he forced his mind to remember that Cas had always been there for him, even when the angel had screwed it up—his intentions had always been true.

Dean remembered vividly how it had felt when Cas had taken control inside his head. All the bad in him got pushed down, and he'd felt happy and at peace, with his life, with himself. Maybe that was why it had been so easy to let go, to release the tension and the anxiety, the immense worry about "what it all meant" and just look into his friend's eyes and show him every emotion that existed in him—all the bad, all the good, all the confusion.

Even towards the end of the dream, he'd felt a lot like his old self: all arrogant and self-assured. That feeling was _long_ gone now. He tried to retrieve it, tried to cement himself into the feeling of the dream, of the look on Cas' face as he'd realized what Dean had propositioned.

Man, the look on Cas' face! That had been priceless. What was all that scary anyway? he asked himself. Cas clearly felt the same way. The guy was shy about it, sure, but Dean was no idiot when it came to reading people. There'd always been something there. The only difference now was that it was in the light of day.

In the end, the real question of the hour was not whether Cas was accepting of their new "relationship status" but whether Dean was. Could he handle it? Or would he ruin everything?

He half grunted, half sighed and dropped back onto the bed, letting the lower half of his legs hang off the end.

Not ten minutes later, he was bolting upright again. He wasn't sure he'd heard anything but he wasn't sure he hadn't either. A gun was in his hands before he'd even realized he'd grabbed for it.

The door of the motel room flung open effortlessly. Three men marched through, one after the other. In the center of the trio, looking self-important and all-fucking righteous was Gadreel, in the original body that Dean had met him in.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuck…_ Dean frantically repeated in his head. He hadn't thought to grab the fucking angel blade!? What was wrong with him?

"Dean." Gadreel greeted calmly, taking in Dean's fight-ready stance with indifference.

"What the fuck do you want?" he demanded, continually shifting his eyes to watch the two back-up singers to Gadreels' center stage act.

"To be rid of a nuisance." Gadreel answered. The angel's features were still, as though this were nothing more than a shitty errand he'd been assigned. No doubt, that was probably the case.

"Oh yeah?" Dean goaded. "You know… a lot of people have tried to boot me off the board, and some even succeeded, but it never really stuck. So what in the hell makes you think you're gonna have any luck, douche-wad?" Dean glared, seeping arrogance, though he felt anything but.

In the back of his mind, he was desperately trying to figure out a way around this. Calling Cas was not an option—it would just put the angel in danger and Dean was not about to get anyone else hurt because of him. They were watching him close enough that he doubted he could cut himself and draw an angel banishing sigil without being noticed.

"This time is different. Before, Heaven needed you. That is no longer the case." Gadreel said as he stepped forward.

Dean backed away, but there was nowhere else for him to go. One of the other angels appeared behind him and in a coordinated movement Gadreel threw the gun out of his hand—thing was useless anyway—and the other angel hooked his arms around Dean's elbows and cranked them backwards in a painful motion, locking his body in place. He breathed hard through the rough manhandling.

"If I'm so useless why even bother killing me?" Dean asked. Because _really?_ Gadreel and two lackeys? C'mon now, clearly he didn't deserve that kind of royal treatment, he thought cockily, getting into the well-grooved familiarity of hunting and life or death situations.

" _Because_ despite how insignificant you appear, you have a habit of causing problems. We are trying to rebuild Heaven—a _better_ Heaven—and we cannot have you getting in our way," the angel explained, unsheathing a sharp, cold-looking blade.

Dean's eyes widened as it dawned on him—this wasn't a fight. This was a goddamn execution. He immediately became tense, struggling in the iron-like hold of the hulk-angel behind him.

Cas had to be close now, he could heal Dean when they were gone… Dean only had to pray; to tell Cas where he was, and to fucking hurry the hell up.

_Cas... I need you…_

Gadreel approached fast, getting right up in his face. "Do not bother, Dean. He cannot hear you." Gadreel's words cut off the prayer in his head. "He will not be able to bring you back either," the angel continued. Dean's breath caught in his throat.

In a flash, Dean could see where this was going…the events of this night unfolding before him. It turned his blood cold, and his heart seized. A moment where not a single beat of blood pumped through his body, and then it suddenly rebounded with a vengeance. Hammering against his ribcage like the pistons in the Impala's engine. He could feel the sweat beading on his skin, trickling down the center of his spine and along his hairline.

Gadreel gripped the blade tight in his hand and looked Dean in the eye.

"There is one thing I think you should know before you die. Consider it a gift," the angel added thoughtfully. "You, Dean, were _essential_ to shutting down Heaven, though you do not even realize," Gadreel reflected as he dragged the angel blade down against Dean's ribs in an absent, threatening motion.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked through his teeth. He was seething with anger and that anger was backed up by a fuck-load of fear, but he refused to let it show because that wasn't the Dean Winchester way.

"Did you never wonder about the ingredients of the spell used to shut down Heaven?" Gadreel focused on him, waiting for an answer. The angel himself seemed intrigued and enticed by this discussion. It worried him.

"What about 'em?" Dean ground out; growing pissed-off and impatient, getting tired of the song and dance.

"A Nephilim; a Cupid's bow; and an Angel's grace," Gadreel answered, narrowing his eyes at Dean. "One of these things is not like the other," the angel intoned, a small smile spreading across his face. Dean had the urge to spit at him, but decided against it in an attempt to avoid getting shanked faster than necessary.

Waiting for the big reveal, Dean grimaced when the angel said nothing more. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Just get the fuck on with it already!"

"L _ove…_ " Gadreel whispered in his face. The angel's expression was momentarily distant, remembering something perhaps that had nothing to do with the here and now.

Dean kept his mouth shut.

As much time as he could waste with this story, the better. Besides, he now had a feeling he knew where it was going anyway.

"It was not just any angel's grace that was required; it was the grace of an angel in love…with a human." Gadreel looked pointedly at Dean, making it clear as day who Gadreel thought Castiel must have been in love with.

 _Well, jokes on you buddy—I already know that!_ Dean thought smugly.

At the lack of reaction, Gadreel grinned wide. "So you are aware, then."

"What are you going to do to Cas?" Dean asked, worried. It was no far stretch that the angel's plans for restoring Heaven probably had something to do with Cas, since he'd been the key to taking it apart.

"That is not your concern," Gadreel replied, turning the blade around in his hands.

"The fuck it isn't!" Dean snapped, struggling with renewed vigor. The angel behind him twisted his arms with enough force that Dean was shocked neither arm popped out of socket. He made a pained noise but forced his attention back to the angel in front of him. There was a rolling, menacing noise vibrating through the air and Dean realized the growl-like sounds were coming from him.

All his rage and aggression was placidly ignored by the angels. This only infuriated and terrified Dean more.

"Enough time has been wasted here." Gadreel spoke to his two henchmen before settling the finality of his gaze on Dean.

Gadreel pulled back the angel blade…

Fuck. "No, wait!" Dean cried out…his panic growing, his heart thundering in his chest.

"There is nothing more for you to say," said the angel with dry irritation.

"Please." Annnnnd he was begging. "At least let me say goodbye." This was Dean's last ditch effort to save himself. All he had to do was tell Cas where he was. Cas would figure something out. Dean sure as hell wasn't ready to go out like this. Not after everything…not without being able to fix things with his brother. After all the shit he'd overcome in his life—the battles he'd won, those he'd lost but somehow pulled through despite everything. He couldn't end this way. Not without knowing Sam would be okay. Not without Cas knowing everything.

Gadreel sighed, glancing up to the ceiling, seeing somewhere beyond as he debated the request.

"Of course." The angel replied in a single breath. "I am not the monster you believe me to be."

Dean sneered. Riiiight _. Jackass…_

"When we leave, your prayers will be heard. Do not try to tell him where you are, he will not hear it, nor will his grace be able to find you."

Gadreel renewed his fixed posture, angel blade firmly gripped and ready.

Dean strained for breath as dread overtook him, his eyes widening in alarm… _Oh God, this is it…_

The angel behind Dean pulled his body taut; arms wrenched backwards, essentially presenting Gadreel with the wide target of Dean's chest and abdomen.

Air couldn't seem to come fast enough, and the sound of his heart got too loud to hear anything else. His chest felt heavy, which pissed him off because he stupidly thought an excess of pumping blood meant he'd die faster. The insistent thumping was ironic, as if the effort alone would be enough to save him.

On his next breath, the angel jousted forward in a single step, the angel blade piercing through his side. The pain forced his mouth wide, but only air came out. His vision blackened, switching to gray, and then colour again.

It shocked him—the pain and the sadness of it. His eyes rolled back as a strangled noise escaped his throat. When Dean could focus again, the door was closing and he was on his knees swaying with the attempt to stay upright.

His abdomen seared in blinding pain. Hot and cold all at the same time. It burned and sharpened with each quickened breath.

 _Cas… Cas…_ he called desperately, moving a hand to clutch his side, feeling the blood pour between his fingers. It was warm, wet, and thick. There was so much of it…it was leaking and leaking.

Fuck. It was everywhere. Dean went for his pocket, but realized they'd taken his phone. Maybe if he got to the car? He had others. But a strange hold seemed to keep him from moving, and he gathered they'd done everything to make sure he was well and truly fucked.

 _Cas…_ he prayed again. Dean half-expected the angel to respond, but of course he didn't. Couldn't. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. This wasn't how this was supposed to go down.

"I fucked up, man… I don't know how, but Gadreel found…me. Don't think I'm gonna make it…"

 _Not this time,_ he thought through an immense wave of grief. The words sunk in and he collapsed onto the carpet, the blood was rapidly draining, leaving him light-headed and weak.

In some distant corner of the room he heard a radio crackle to life, some stupid pre-set alarm. Or, maybe an angel-induced way of drowning out the sounds of him dying. How considerate of them. The soft piano notes filtered to him, weighing him down, pushing him further into the floor.

 _I'm so sorry Cas. Everything I've done…I-1 did it all wrong. You and Sammy… It took me too long. I-ahh-fuck this hurts,_ he winced as the pain seared from his side. The heat blistered through his bones and muscle, making him sweat. _I should have said everything before... before now...to both of you. God, there's not enough time… Not enough words…_

 _Not the_ right _words. I never was that good of a talker…that was all Sammy._

Dean's jaw shook as he tried to hold back tears. His throat burned from the strain and the tightness around his chest was so strong that he could no longer suck back a full breath, his lungs starting to ache.

Reduced to shallow, shaky breaths, his hands turned white. Dean laced them together as tight as he could in an attempt quell the tremors waving through his body as he fought to maintain vital functions. The blade had hit something real fucking important, he knew, because darkness was creeping in on him much too fast. This was not the first time he'd been stabbed—but it was certainly the most effective.

The song in the background percolated his consciousness, and the words echoed inside his body, tearing away at it in bits and pieces. As if he wasn't dying fast enough already.

 _Wrap me in a bolt of lightning,_  
Send me on my way still smiling  
Maybe that's the way I should go,  
Straight into the mouth of the unknown

The lyrics resonated like a hammer pounding in his head and he continued his prayer aloud with whatever energy he had left.

"I wish you were here, fuck, Cas. I really don't want to be alone right now. I want you here. I need you here… I've always needed you. I—"

Dean broke off as the tears started to stream down his face and his body flinched sporadically, broken up with harder, longer bouts of shivering. Pain and anguish flooded him, and he'd never really been afraid of dying before. Of course, Gadreel had been right, Dean knew dying wouldn't take when Heaven needed his ass. But now?

Shit felt pretty final.

The thought of never seeing Cas or Sam again…that was the worst of it. That scared him worse than anything. He'd never get to fix it.

The blood that had seeped out of him had become a large puddle on the carpet and he felt it cooling against him…

 _Just, uh, don't do anything stupid, okay? Sam either. Please…_ Dean pleaded desperately. _I need to know that the two of you will be okay… I-I-I need that? It's my damn dying wish._

Dean used every ounce of strength he had to curl his legs up to his chest, trying to stave off the cold he could feel as his body grew more and more sluggish. His hands were now mostly covered in blood, the red in stark contrast to the pasty whiteness that his skin was becoming.

His face was wet with tears and cooling sweat and he was filled so completely with regret—it was consuming him at the same rate that his life was draining away. In the background the piano and the song played on.

_Call me a sinner, call me a saint  
Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same_

_Call me your favorite, call me the worst  
Tell me it's over, I don't want you to hurt_

_It's all that I can say. So, I'll be on my way_

Abandoning dignity, Dean outright sobbed, choking around the lump in his throat. He was aware of the whimper of noise that escaped his mouth—a despairing protest. The shaking and the agony that had been dominating his every breath began to ebb away, and he found no measure of comfort in the recluse from pain…because he'd seen death enough to know. No sensations meant death was already standing beside you.

Though, looking around with water-clouded eyes, he saw no reaper.

Dean had to finish his prayer. Through the pain, and the growing exhaustion, he continued his desperate words in a tumbled panic: "Cas… you m-mean more to me than I... I'll ever get … chance to tell you. Y-you're important. Hm. I, wah, s-s-co-old, fu-uck … I've n-n-never … gone … s-s-slow bef-ore … f…n b-b-bu-bullshit… M-m-make it s-s-stop… Cas…"

Putting a string of words together started to take immense effort. Dean's brain started to muddle, not a lot making sense. Going lax, all shivers leaving his body limp, he no longer had the strength to fight what couldn't be fought.

Knowing he was on his way out, he struggled to convey what was left of his conscious mind, his lips hardly moved and no sound came out, but the effort was there.

 _Tell … Samm-m-m … love'm … sorry hurt him. Love you … Ca-a- don't wan' be 'lone …_ _M'not… ready t'go. P-p-please…_

Dean's heart-rate slowed considerably. The fear that had clutched him was long gone. He was beyond the capacity to feel much at all. The darkness was closing in. Every limb was numb and heavy…far away.

Everything was getting so far away.

_Cas … sshh … you … withmm…_

The words of his silent prayer no longer made sense. Nothing more than a tumbled mixture of lament, of goodbye, and unsatisfied longing.

The radio in the background continued to play songs, a mockery of life in contrast to the still form that rested on the tacky, brownish-red carpet.

Despite the hum from the nightstand, the world seemed to fall silent, the motel room becoming eerily still. The laboured breaths and quiet sobs had ceased. The soul that had brightened the room was now gone, leaving behind nothing but the face that had changed the world and caused an angel to fight against his brethren and creator, and in the end, to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced is Call Me by Shinedown.


	7. Load Me Up

Castiel came to as if dragged into consciousness by an unseen force. He didn't want it. He knew there was something that would roar back, that would rip him apart. Feeling the shreds of his grace in tatters already, he didn't think he could handle it.

Something slick and crusty clouded his vision. Flashes of light against the dark seeped through the obstruction over his eyes and through his eyelids. Willing it gone, he opened his eyes, coming face to face with the blinking of the vehicle's four-way lights—lighting up the shadowed dash in a repetitive pattern. The windshield had cracked into a million lines, though it somehow held together as one piece.

What happened? Where had the day gone?

Staring in a daze at the blinking amber lights, the forgotten memories returned in a swift, violent inundation of flashes, flooding him with pain and grief.

Dean! _No, this can't be happening. Nonononononononono…_ The denial hummed in indistinguishable syllables, screaming inside his head.

Castiel doubled forward as his stomach heaved and twisted. Heat ripped through him from the force of his anger and despair. Lighting up the car, his body began to glow with white-hot energy and he could let it consume him, if he were of a mind to. If he wanted, he could set this vehicle on fire with him inside it. Castiel considered just that for a long minute, until the anger rose over him.

"H _OW_ C _OULD_ Y _OU_?!" he thundered with a voice that echoed in a double timbre of his vessel's voice and his own.

He'd rip God apart. His Father, his creator was going to meet his end for this travesty. The most perfect and incredible soul to ever walk this earth, and just when Castiel had been given the opportunity to try and make that man whole—the unthinkable happened.

It's not fair, he thought. "Nononono…" he rambled. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Castiel remembered _every_ second, _every_ torturous breath that Dean released in shallow, broken patterns. He'd felt Dean's body burn with the pain only to fade into a telling chill in mere minutes. Castiel couldn't stop his brain as it replayed every sensation.

With distant awareness, he felt warm streaks slide over his skin. Crying, he realized. I'm crying… But this didn't faze him. It was a good thing that Castiel didn't require air, because there was no more breath to be had.

When Dean's voice had stretched across the geography of the state to reach his mind, it had felt as though a two-ton force had slammed against his ribcage; ripping and bruising as it collided.

Naturally, he'd repetitively tried to escape his vessel and fly to Dean with lightning fast speed, but an angelic force kept him trapped. Helpless and hopeless, he'd screamed in anguished frustration. His foot on the pedal that had been propelling the car forward bottomed out as he sped.

Castiel didn't even know where Dean was. His powers were limited and confined and he knew it had been on purpose.

_Gadreel and Metatron…_

The thought of the two angels set his grace blazing with renewed force from his pure and absolute hatred. The trees and brush surrounding the wrecked car lit up with flame, and the heat bent the air into blurred delusions of the empty spaces that surrounded him.

With unparalleled dread in knowing he had no way to get to Dean, he'd fumbled in a panic to call the only other person that might be able to help him: Sam Winchester…

…

"Sam!" Castiel yelled, distraught, the second he heard the call connect, not waiting for Sam's greeting. There wasn't time. _There wasn't time!_

"Cas, what's goin' on?!" demanded Sam. The brother was fully alert, his worry filtering over the line.

"You can find Dean with his phone right? Right? _FIND HIM!_ " Cas practically screamed, gripping the steering wheel one-handed; urging the car to go faster. Though to where? he had no idea.

Please don't die on me…he'd prayed, pleaded, downright begged. _Father, please…_

"What's wrong, Cas? What happened?" Sam's voice had gone quickly from panic to entirely permeated by fear. It was like acid dripping across the phone line.

"There's no time! Sam, for God's sake just find him! NOW!" Castiel shouted in a violent voice. The sound of loud clacking, no doubt frantic fingers attacking a keyboard, could instantly be heard. Castiel began to jerk in his seat, the impatience enraging him. Finally, a loud slam of a fist coming down on a table shot through the phone.

"I can't…" Sam breathed in fear. "Cas…it's not showing up!"

"Tell me—" Sam started but Cas had already thrown the phone into the backseat.

He was lost now. Dean was lost to him. So many ways he could have gotten to him, and every single one was taken from him. Dean…was being taken from him.

…

Castiel had listened to every single word Dean had said to him, even distantly hearing the harmony of a song in the background. When Dean's words morphed into increasingly broken thoughts and muffled feelings, Castiel's fear and grief and fury had exploded the windshield.

The world slipped away the moment he felt that last breath, the final decisive beat of Dean's heart. Breathing ceased, his eyes unseeing, Castiel sat in the driver's seat, having relinquished control of the car entirely.

And then everything had gone black.

In a detached way, he understood that he must have crashed the car. Taking stock of his physical form, he noted that he was broken and bleeding in many places. Not that he cared.

With his hands balled into tight fists, he caught sight of the air surrounding him, swirling violently on its own current. The temperature in the car dropped several degrees, contrasting the burning fire that surrounded the vehicle. The blaze became a beast of its own, the flames licking up the trees—devouring them. Castiel envied their fate.

He'd never felt such sorrow, such immense pain _and_ anger. An unparalleled fury. Years ago, Dean's death would mean nothing more than a trip upstairs to retrieve him, or to beat his wings and be at Dean's side with almost no passing of time. But the world was different now. Heaven was broken, Hell was under a regime change.

It was different this time… Dean dying. And they'd both known it.

There was no going back from this night. Nothing would be the same again. And though Castiel had battled with the idea of suicide once before, it was never more truly appealing. The only thing that stayed his hand was the thought that Dean's dying words had been that he and Sam be okay. Of all the promises he'd made to Dean, both spoken and silent, this was one he couldn't ignore.

Castiel wasn't sure his grace would be able to survive the anguish, but for Dean he would try. His vessel, slowly saturating with light, pieced itself back together at his command.

The fire around the car raged in blue heat, growing and surging in a reflection of his emotions.

Pushing the car door into the fire, Castiel climbed out into the flames. The heat brushed his clothes and his skin, but he remained impervious. With one trajectory in mind, he walked around on shaky legs to the trunk. Finding Dean's—

Castiel froze, caught on the word. He couldn't say it…not even in his head. His trembling hand hovered over the trunk latch, curling into a tight grip at nothing. The pain was overwhelming. All at once, the grief roared out of him with the full force of his angelic vocals. The sharp, ear-piercing sound was heard miles away. All that lived within the radius of his distress felt his agony.

Dean had told him not to do anything stupid. However, Castiel reasoned, an act could not be deemed stupid if it were exquisitely well planned. Thus, he would destroy Gadreel and Metatron. The persona he'd once become as a temporary God (and the resulting destruction) would be nothing compared to the wrath that he would bring to the angels who had taken Dean from him. …And from Sam, he realized.

Sam still didn't know.

Castiel's heart clenched. His own pain had taken over, leaving no strength left to tell the younger Winchester that his brother was dead. Not yet. It would destroy him.

Shaking, he waved a hand over the trunk and it popped open. Rummaging methodically, Castiel rounded up the ingredients he needed. Each acquisition steadied his hands, the purpose enough to stifle his paramount misery.

In less than five minutes, he was dropping a lit match into a bowl.

/\/\/\

Crowley was discussing strategy with one of his minions when he felt it. The tell-tale constricting pressure around his body, collapsing him in order to forcefully relocate him… Likely into a devil's trap, he assumed dryly.

Winchesters, no doubt.

With a scathing snort, he blinked from one place to the next. As expected, the King found himself standing in a devil's trap burned into the ground in the middle of a dense forest. A blazing fire roared in the distance—so close he felt the heat of it on his skin.

Standing several feet away, backlit by the angry flames was Castiel. The menace surrounded him in a haze of distorted energy. The angel's chest heaved up and down in powerful surges, his head angled back in a dominant display as his eyes set on Crowley in a hard, severe stare.

There'd been times in the past that the angel had displayed such immense power that Crowley wouldn't deny made his balls draw up from the sight of it: Vessel aglow, shadowed wingspan stretching out behind him.

_But this?_

Observing the angel now, through the largest open path between the trees, was unlike any display he'd seen before. The angel glowed, yes—a white hot smoulder beneath his skin. But now a darkness also existed there—a smear of hatred so at odds with his celestial composition. The flames roaring behind him seemed to grow and shrink in sync with Castiel's rising chest. The shadows of his broken wings were not a piddly stretch of black, either, but a massive blanket of menacing darkness that cascaded across the landscape.

Taking it all in, most notably the angry pit in the centre of the angel, Crowley knew.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying. He could later blame the words on fear of the angel, but deep down Crowley knew his condolence was sincere.

"Can you find his… Can you find him?" Castiel choked out in a strained voice. The white energy pulsed beneath his skin. Crowley could feel the power of it, singeing his demonic form.

"Yes… Of course, Castiel, I'll find him for you," Crowley replied, his tone barely above a whisper. His features contorted into the unfamiliar pattern of empathy.

"Who was it?" he demanded, suddenly angry and not sure why.

Why did he care if the eldest Winchester was no more? Why did it bother him to see the angel so bloody broken? He was the King of Hell, dammit!

"Gadreel." Castiel's jaw hardened. The roaring fire surged with the spoken name. The angel opened his mouth to say more when his features levelled out—a sharp contrast to the anger formerly displayed. His head quirked to the side, surprised by whatever he'd suddenly sensed.

Baffled, Crowley watched as the angel slowly disappeared into the night. Angling his head, his focus narrowed in on the recently vacated spot.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" he screeched loudly into the open air. Angel's fly and angel's die, but they most certainly don't do _that_. The bloody angel had phased out. Gradually becoming transparent until there was not a friggin' bit left of him.

Time to get the bloody hell out of here!

On cue, and stranger still, the devil's trap disappeared. It didn't break, it merely vanished. Fresh, fragrant grass now stood where there had been seared earth just seconds before. The air was cold as it should've been this late at night. The fire in the distance also erased as if it'd never been.

As fast as demonically possible, Crowley transported himself back to where he'd been. Two of his right-hand demons were waiting.

"Winchesters, sir?" they asked in unison. The plurality of the question made him cringe. And he loathed the reaction. You're the King of _Hell_ , he roared internally. Pull yourself together!

Wound up for no good reason, Crowley barked orders at his minions: "I need you to do something. And you are to follow strict orders! If you tell another living thing what I am asking you to do, I will slice you both apart with my blunt fingernails!" The two cowered from the threat.

"Y-yes, sir. What would you have us do?" they asked—Good dogs that they were.

"Find Dean Winchester. _His body…_ " Crowley amended. "Find his body." Both immediately had equal looks of shock dawn over them. Dissatisfied with their pitiful uselessness, the King's eyes rolled upward to the ceiling. Blasted idiots.

"Sir?" they asked together. The uplifted curl of their combined voice hinted at the pleasant surprise with which they accepted the news. He should kill them both.

"Just find the Winchester's body, you insufferable twats! And make sure you protect it! If you touch an artfully coiffed hair on his head before I get there— _Well,_ I think we both know how that will end," he threatened.

The demons disappeared with their task leaving him alone. Standing with his back to the mahogany desk, unmoving and unfeeling for several moments, Crowley let the sounds of hell wash over him.

The image of the angel was seared onto his retina's. He'd seen torture a million times, in many different forms, but the image of Castiel that night held the pain of countless years in Hell. Now the angel was gone and who knew where? He suspected this left him with a loose end. Crowley's palms felt sweaty, and he wiped them on his expensive, professionally tailored suit pants.

With a self-hating sneer, he reorganized himself to a location he was sure was near their little hideout. Right where he'd first cast his eyes on the angel's horrific pimp-mobile.

Pulling out his phone, he placed a call in to Sam Winchester.

The younger brother answered the phone before the first ring ended. "Cas?!" The hunter's voice ripped through line.

"Not exactly," he corrected.

"What the hell did you do!?" shouted Sam.

" _I_ did not do anything. Sam, I need to see you. Can you meet me? _Or_ …?" Crowley fumbled, waiting to be summoned. He wasn't sure why he was taking it upon himself to do this. He couldn't make sense of it. He argued with himself, trying to rationalize this pathetic course of action. Maybe, he'd require Sam's help in case retrieving the older Winchester's body proved difficult. Crowley could even argue that _said_ body belonged in his brother's care and _that_ was the reason for embarking on this depressing task. But none of those reasons carried significant weight.

The King of Hell he may be, Crowley still fancied himself an honest man (for the most part). In the depths of his—well not his soul, clearly, but somewhere—he knew why he was doing this. Yes, he hated himself for it. As a demon, and a King no less, there was endless shame in giving even one single fuck about those two meddling idiots. But over time, they'd grown on him like a crusty scab—something he enjoyed picking at.

This tiny part of him sort of liked the Winchesters. They were a constant in this turd world, something he could live with. And if they were to be taken out by anyone—it should have at least been him.

Realizing that Sam had been quiet for far too long, he spoke, "Sam?"

Seconds later, he sensed the reason for Sam's silence when, for the second time that night, gravity pressed around him.

Crowley appeared in the dungeon that had been his captivity for months. The youngest Winchester stood before him, chin-length hair a disaster. The stiff jaw clenched and unclenched, his cheeks red with anger.

"What happened?!" Sam demanded. His long, muscular arms held rigid at his sides, knuckles white in tight fists, the rest of his hands splotchy red.

"Sam…" The kindness that moderated his normally tetchy voice surprised him. Yet another abhorrent trait brought on by Dean's demise, and the resulting grief-struck angel.

"Why do you keep calling me Sam? You never call me that." The younger brother watched him with clear skepticism.

Crowley slowed his breaths, stealing himself for the conversation that could likely end in his death. Why exactly had he decided to do this? Sam would probably kill him.

"Get rid of the trap," he instructed, gesturing down to the paint, having coming to his senses. He bloody well wasn't going to let himself be killed for something he didn't do. Sam flexed his jaw and stalked forward, bending down to scratch the paint with a knife. The tight, itchy feeling of constriction abased.

"Tell me." Sam's hazel eyes were wild as he spoke.

"Sam… I'm-I'm sorry." Sam flinched. "It wasn't me, I promise you. I didn't do it. It was Gadreel—"

"No…" The Winchester reared back on his heels. "Nonono... _No_ … Don't even say it." Sam's tall form swayed. "You're lying. He can't-he's not…" The struggling words cut short, and Sam shrank bank towards the metal shelving to his back.

Crowley said nothing. Seeing the younger brother slump to his knees, Crowley blinked the image away. He didn't care for the feeling it gave him. Doubling over to clutch at the concrete floor, a low murmur of Dean's name fell from Sam's lips. The King of Hell felt an echo of grief when Sam gagged and promptly up-chucked the contents of his stomach all over the cold, grey floor.

With a sigh, Crowley approached. _Cautiously_. Each sickly sound coming from Sam resounded in Crowley's own gut. The demon placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder in comfort, surprising them both.

Sam wheeled on him in a craze, his eyes wild with fury. He wiped his mouth rough with the back of his hand and stood up off the ground. "Take me to him!" Sam commanded, towering over him.

"As you wish," he conceded.

A text from his demons had supplied him with one address, just outside of St. Louis. It was there that Crowley reappeared with Sam at the edge of a dark parking lot, facing a seemingly unexceptional motel. Except for the one particular room that had several demons standing guard.

Oh fuck. Not his demons.

"Bollocks," Crowley cursed, glancing around for miraculous backup, finding none.

"What?" asked Sam.

"Pretty sure my demons are dead," he explained. "The ones standing by the door do not work for me. My guess: Abaddon. Sorry Moose, but we're severely outnumbered here."

Sam glared down at him, pulling the demon blade from the back of his jeans. Carelessly, Sam marched off towards the motel door. With a quick couple steps, Crowley jousted forward and snagged the Winchester by the elbow.

"You can't!" he warned. "That won't kill 'er and you bloody well know it. We need back up," he barked.

"So, where's Cas?" asked Sam. A twitch had taken control of Sam's expression, the muscle beneath his right eye dancing under his skin.

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "The Angel sort of…vanished, should we say." Irrationally, Crowley harbored a ridiculous sliver of guilt over the missing angel. But what could he have done?

"What do you mean: _'He vanished'_?" Sam crowded into him, hard, hazel eyes peering down.

"I _mean_ , Moose, the angel went _ADIOS_ in a manner I've never seen _anything_ disappear ever, in all my time as a demon. He faded out, alright!"

Sam curled his lips, equal measure of confusion and rage battling for expression. In a thick whoosh of air, he jerked out of Crowley's grip and resumed his trajectory towards the motel.

"You can't!" Crowley called out.

"Yes. _I_ _can_." Sam's voice filtered back to him in raw clips of sound. The younger brother approached the door so self-assured of his abilities. But it was Crowley who was the one to be surprised, watching as Sam efficiently discarded of the three demons on guard. The lack of effort was, actually, impressive.

Fat good it would do against Abaddon, he thought. Poor, grieving, stupid Moose, you're on your own in this suicide mission. The King transported himself back to Hell, leaving the Winchesters to their fate.


	8. Comin' Up From Behind

_She's an eight ball,_

_Rollin' faster than a white ball,_

_She's got an avalanche packed into a snowball…_

* * *

 

Abaddon was sitting in her personal corner of Hell debating and strategizing her next moves to overtake Crowley. She was absolutely disgusted with the state of Hell, not to mention the world. When had everything become so tempered, she thought with tired frustration.

Crowley was weak, _sympathetic_. The impotent _King_ chose order over chaos and it sickened her. The man had no desire for evil the way she did; like a demon _should_. Every single infliction of pain she caused shot bolts of pleasure straight through her veins. This was why she would be the one to rise above. Every lowly demon would become her dog, and she would see to it that every single human quivered at the very mention of her name.

It was unacceptable that the majority of the population held no knowledge of Hell. Seriously? What was _that_ about? How could she terrify all those pretty little souls into giving themselves up to her if they had no idea Hell, or demons even existed?

 _Of course_ , there were the ineffectual deals that Crowley was so proud of. Integrity, she scoffed, curling her lips into a snarl. Hell did not have integrity. Hell was meant to be torture, pain, ruin, and humiliation. And Abaddon would ensure it would truly become the ultimate epitome of evil that would roar up to consume humanity. And she would savour it. _Fuck… she would_ bathe _in it,_ Abaddon thought with a twisted grin.

Even Lucifer, the self-proclaimed Devil, had been so incredibly weak; letting a simple human overtake his control. _How pathetic!_ His angelic upbringing had softened him. Abaddon let out a sly smile and a small enthusiastic purr as she took in the torture around her— _She_ would become the new Devil.

As she plotted and writhed with pleasure from the screams rising up to her ears, she was interrupted by one of her soldiers throwing themselves into her space, panting for breath and fuming with urgency.

"What is it, now?" she asked, annoyed with the interruption.

"The angel…" he huffed. "The one they call Gadreel, he's been spotted," the demon spewed hastily.

"What does it matter to me? I'm not coming for the angels… Not yet," she explained, getting more and more annoyed with the disruption.

"The angel was spotted at a motel mere feet away from that gas-guzzler the Winchesters drive," he elaborated, eyes bright and excited to be delivering this candy-gram piece of news.

" _Really_?!" Abaddon crooned. "Where?"

It seemed the leverage she'd been looking for had just dropped into her lap. How convenient, she thought.

In very short order she appeared at the motel, three demons at her side. Standing before her were three pretentious Angels. Gadreel stood proud of his meagre grouping. She faced off against him; a clashing of biblical light and dark. How fucking poetic.

"Remove yourself from my sight, filth," Gadreel spat at her. Encouraged, she smiled back, licking across her teeth. So sweet with the compliments this one, she thought.

With a subtle flick of her wrist, her demons leapt into action and attacked the angels, leaving her and Gadreel pacing each other out. Exactly the way she wanted it.

Her feathery opponent unsheathed a bloody angel blade, and she could smell the Winchester on it. "Oh, and what fun business have we been up to?" she wondered, curving up a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in interest while she slid out her own angelic murder weapon. A lady's got to have her tools at the ready.

"Where did you get that?" Gadreel was clearly taken off guard by her resourcefulness, eyes widening as he realized this fight wouldn't be as easy as he'd expected. She smirked—everyone always underestimated her. That was how she'd risen so fast against Crowley; no one expected her cunning, her consuming level of evil. She would win because she had no boundaries—she had no morals. Not to mention she was incredibly difficult to kill.

"I have my ways," she answered vaguely, turning the blade around in her palm with the flick of her manicured fingers.

Gadreel pummeled forward, knocking her off balance but not off her feet. The angel lunged a second time to try and stab her—not that it would do any good.

She laughed loud. "I am a Knight of Hell! Your puny sword will do _nothing!_ "

Quickly, Abaddon spun on her heel away from his reaching arm. She rounded her own arm in a wide arc in the process of her pivot and speared the blade towards his position, simultaneously throwing her leg out in a swift kick. To her dismay, her blade missed by inches. Though her leg had not. Having managed to knock him off balance, she took the open advantage to crowd over him, pushing the angel to his knees—where all lowly creatures belonged.

Abaddon wasted no time in using her power to wrench the blade from his hand and delighted in the sound of it scattering somewhere out of reach. The silence around her told her how the rest of the fight had gone. Dead and bloody— _Perfect._

She raised the blade to the angel's throat. "You are _weak_. Every last one of you." She curled her lip in disgust at the self-righteous fuck.

"It may not be me, but someone will strike you down. Rest assured," the angel stated calmly, meeting her eyes hard and firm—even in the face of death.

Abaddon's twisted laughter rose clear and loud. Those who considered bravery a form of strength were delusional. Whether or not a thing smiled in the face of death did not mean she wouldn't still enjoy ripping them to shreds. They would die bloody whether there was a fucking smile on their face or not.

"They may try, but I guarantee you they will fail. Don't you get it!? I'm everything your devil should've been. I'm the one people need to fear! _I'm invincible!_ "

With that, she cut into his flesh, slowly and painfully, riding out his torment before death. She raked it in, consuming every ounce of his suffering. It surged through her, making her stronger.

"You are _nothing_ ," he replied on his last breath, the angelic burst of light growing before her eyes.

Wrong.

"I. Am. The. New. Devil," she seethed in a low, guttural voice as she drove the blade through him as deep as it could go, feeling the edge of her fist at the hilt crushing his body. A tingle flared through her as she relished in the agony she'd caused. When the light reached its climax, the piercing glow forced her eyes shut.

When the show was over, she sharply threw his limp vessel to the ground, taking both blades with her and walked to the motel room where she knew she would claim her deserved prize.

"Every corner of Hell and this fusty planet shall be mine. And it all starts with you, Dean Winchester."

/\/\/\

That's a lot of fucking white. That shit was bright, too. It stretched into every direction his eyes could see. Even without the sterile confirmation, Dean knew he was in Heaven. Though, he'd expected different. Since this was not his first rodeo, he'd presumed that Ash would've been waiting for him with a cold one. Or several... Fuck, he could use an unlimited amount of alcohol right now. Maybe some drugs too. 

Instead, it was endless white. Crisp, stark white, that was oddly soft on the eyes. There was no perception of depth. The space around him could extend the equivalent of a few feet, or it could be infinite. There was no way to tell. There was no air, no breeze, no smells, nothing. An endless void.

Damn, he really hoped this wasn't where he was spending eternity.

Dean checked around, going in circles as his anger and stress boiled inside of him. _How could it've ended like this?_ Stumped, he ran a hand over his mouth and jaw. He grew more and more displeased with his surroundings with each passing thought but there was nothing he could do about it.

I'm gonna lose my fucking mind!

Suddenly, emerging from the white, two beat-up park benches appeared side by side. His heart would've stopped if it had been beating. Instead, the stillness continued.

Dean remembered them, of course. From a long, long time ago. From the very first moment he'd begun to see Cas as a friend, as someone he could trust. It had been after Samhain had been released and subsequently killed by his little brother's questionable demonic… _talents_. To this day, it still made Dean shiver.

Anxious, he sat down at the end of the one—the same place he'd parked his butt before. He carefully and intently watched the other bench…waiting…and waiting. His eyeballs strained with the intensity of his focus.

 _You're coming, right?_ Dean prayed.

No flip-flap of wings greeted him. Desperation and hope filled him up to a breaking point and as time passed and no one appeared to his left, Dean hung his head. It was like a kick to the stomach. Had he really done such terrible things to deserve this? Life had been _so_ damn cruel to him, and now death was sharing in that apparent joy.

"That was not my intention," said a familiar voice from his left. But it was not the voice Dean wanted to hear.

"Chuck?!" he yelped. Goddamn. Chuck Shirley, prophet and exposer of Dean and Sam's lives all for a quick buck sat there beside him. "Well, shit. I guess you are dead," Dean remarked as he huffed air out of his nose.

"Not exactly," said Chuck. What the hell did that mean?

Dean pivoted sideways to scrutinize him—to _really_ look the guy over. There was something. The countenance, or the vibe he picked up on was peculiar. Dean couldn't _quite_ put his finger on it. There was an elusive glow about the once prophet. Something luminescent contained under the surface. Yet so entirely different from the way Cas would glow in the process of killing a demon or using his healing mojo. It was there as a feeling, as a sensation against his skin as opposed to something he could take in with his eyes.

"Chuck?" The thought that circled around Dean's brain was just on the tip of his tongue...but no fucking way. _It couldn't be._ He eyed the smaller man with palpable suspicion, leaning in for closer inspection.

No...

"It seemed a very unassuming name," said the man Dean no longer recognized.

Speechless, he sat there and stared—wide-eyed at the _thing_ before him. 'Thing' with a fucking capital 'T'. There were no words for that magnitude of a bombshell, only the growing hatred that followed swiftly on the heels of the plot-twist.

"I know what you think of me," God remarked as he focused his eyes somewhere distant.

Dean snapped. "You don't know the fucking half of it!" he snarled viciously, shifting forward, ready and willing to choke God to his death. The action didn't get farther than a thought, his arms failing to move, uselessly trapped there against his sides.

"What are you doing?!" Dean fumed, frozen in place.

"You know you cannot kill me, I'm simply saving you the failed attempt." God sighed. "Please just listen to me. Please…I beg this of you, Dean. Be assured, I never do this. Me, being here, seeing you—it is an unheard of situation. I implore you to understand the magnitude of this conversation."

Dean could feel the red-hot odium towards this 'God' at the injustice of everything that had happened in this world, in his life, and his consequent pathetic excuse for a death. Dean found, however, that he couldn't speak. He was forced to listen to whatever God had to say. With his words trapped in his throat, he threw every ounce of fury into his livid green stare.

God had the balls to look remorseful. Dean's next prayer was nothing but two words.

"I'm not the powerful deity you believe me to be," God began in Chuck's voice. Man, how the hell could they have been the same person? Dean wondered. How could he have stood there when they were fighting the apocalypse and done hardly anything to help? _Fuck—_ God had stood by and watched Cas explode beside him…. It was sickening.

"For many millennia, I could influence and map the trajectory and patterns of this changing world. Shaping the animals and living beings into what I thought they should be. What they deeply wanted to be. Free will was to be had, and I helped provide that. I nurtured the burgeoning communities and humanity in ever complex and intricate ways to help them achieve the things they were destined to achieve." God paused, sucking in a deep breath. For what purpose, Dean had no idea. There was no air in this place, and he highly doubted the asshole needed oxygen anyway.

"But then the world changed…" God continued, his voice darkening to a graver tone. "Heaven changed. Faith dwindled; hope was snuffed down to a low flame. Everything that was once great about this world became greedy and demented.

"You see…I'm not all-powerful. I am only as powerful as the faith that is given to me. Everything crumbled before my eyes, and I cracked. I had been around so long; the despair of my creations broke something inside of me and I" —he chuckled enigmatically— "I suppose you could say I-I went on sabbatical." The admission was said with a dry humour, as if Chuck were ashamed of it.

"I adopted this form, gave it a name and a purpose. The persona of Chuck is not so very different from myself. As much as I wanted to remain indifferent, I started writing as I did so long ago—finding comfort in it. I watched as the events unfolded, planning for certain outcomes. I set up the pieces necessary for you and Sam and Castiel to save this struggling world. And I was so pleased! You three changed everything. My passion renewed and I continued writing…

"When at last the apocalypse was before us, and you, once again, succeeded, as I'd hoped. I believed the world no longer needed me. I was the unbidden parent holding on too tight. I needed to finally let go and let my creations and my children grow into their own light.

"In my desire to let you flourish, I condemned you to an unhinged world and for that I am deeply sorry. Unfortunately, I no longer hold much power—but I am not without the ability to at least make some amends."

God shifted to observe Dean with incomparable paternal affection; he almost collapsed from the weight of it. It was unlike anything Dean had ever felt before. His hatred withered away, no matter how desperately he tried to cling to its familiarity.

"You and your brother are among my very favourites," he commented affectionately. It left Dean feeling loved and cared for and he had no way to fight against the warmth of the feeling. He tried to reason his way back into his fortitude of anger but it was, simply, gone.

"And because of this, I'd like to give you a choice, Dean. Should you want it."

Chuck, God, or the man facing him held his eyes, waiting. Dean regained control of his voice but was stumped with what to say.

"Ch-choice?" he stammered. The rough sound of his voice startled him. It sounded too deep, too harsh for this place. Much like the rest of him, a hard contrast to the pristine expanse around them.

"Yes. You've been through enough, and though I have things I might ask of you, I won't. I know that what you desire most is autonomy, so I am giving you choice."

Dean waited patiently.

"I will give you three choices: You may choose to remain dead and in Heaven (I will ensure you are with your family and friends that have also passed), or you may return to the world below and continue life without any guarantee of what will follow, or—and for this I blame my writer's mind on," God said with a smile. "I can send your soul, along with Sam's and Castiel's, to another dimension—one you've visited before." The lopsided, clever grin was all Chuck. Dean wondered what fanatical religious nut-jobs would think of their beloved deity.

"Another dimension?" Dean asked, confused.

"Yes, you were actors."

"You're joking?" Dean knitted his brows in disbelief. "You're saying you could send us to another world, where we would be actors? What would happen to those poor bastards then?"

"You would become them completely, your souls would merge as one, but you would not contain any of your memories of this life. I'm limited with that last option, I'm afraid."

Dean sat there, perplexed and intrigued but immediately knew it wouldn't feel right. It would be like wearing another dude's underwear. And besides, the glam life wasn't exactly his style. I mean, yeah sure, money'd be nice, but bright lights-big city? Fuck that, Dean thought.

Like a carousel of competing thoughts, his mind spun. A section of his brain shouted at him to give up and stay in this place where he could spend eternity with his parents and all the other's he'd cared so much for and lost.

But other, nagging, parts in his head screamed at him to go back to his brother, to Cas. Where he belonged? he wondered. The concept of belonging to them, to the odd family they'd created he offered to himself. Was he selfish to want that? Would they be better off without him? Would he even ever see Cas again if he stayed? Where did angels go when they died? Dean opened his mouth to—

"I'll give you some time, Dean," said Chuck. "I have other business to attend to."

Dean nodded absently, lost in the train wreck that he'd found himself in. He watched as God faded away into nothing. In the absence of the Holy Being, Dean's eyes settled on the slats of the wood bench. Part of him still hoped that if he stared long and hard enough, sheer will would succeed in giving him what he wanted. A different Holy Being. One with dark brown dishevelled hair, captivating blue eyes, and a penetrating effect on his emotional state, that he'd only hours ago had been hoping would translate to the physical. And to think, he'd been so worried about buying that damn bottle of lube.

What a joke.

It all left Dean feeling hollow; a pit in the cavity of his chest that the entirety of Heaven wouldn't be able to fill.

There was no choice but one. Death, it seemed, wasn't suited to Dean Winchester.

/\/\/\

Castiel reappeared in Heaven. He knew without a doubt that that was where he was. Unlike Dean, who remained in a distant corner of the great construct of the afterlife, Castiel knew the very second he saw Chuck that it was not the writer he'd known.

Without a thought for potential consequences, Castiel torpedoed himself across the short distance between their forms and collided with his creator in a violent fury.

" _HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!"_ he bellowed into the void, throwing fists again, and again, at the unwavering steady form of his absent Father.

Castiel released his rage in a rhythm of heated blows. Intermittently, he grabbed the smaller frame and tossed him against the white surface below their feet. In the back of his mind he was aware he caused no damage. God was allowing this, for whatever reason. Perhaps he knew.

 _Yes_ , he must've, Castiel realized.

The sorrow he could sense, smelling like acrid rain, was what allowed these actions.

It was a seemingly long time before his ineffectual attack defeated him. Castiel swayed, arms falling heavy to his sides. God watched him through Chuck's compassionate blue eyes, observing his child with sincere empathy.

"Bring him back," he demanded. "You owe me that." The growl of his words were powerful enough to vibrate the space around them. Never before had his emotional state played such havoc with his powers.

"I've done a lot for you Castiel," God reminded him. Those multiple resurrections were proof of this statement but he was much too stubborn to let it soften his anger. Grief had wrenched around him like a vice and nothing could chase it gone. Instead, he allowed it to morph into hatred, despising such an animalistic reaction, but faced with such a profound loss he found himself incapable of reasonable conduct.

"Whether or not Dean returns, is his choice—not yours, or mine," his Father explained.

"Then why am I here?" he wondered. If God could not give him Dean or retribution against those who'd taken him—then what was the point? Leave me be, he wanted to say. Let me grieve…

"I can, however, give you the means to fix some of what is broken." His Father began to pace. Castiel watched, his head tilted, thinking he understood.

"You mean Heaven?"

"Yes. Heaven and…" God turned and paused, reconsidering his next words. He began anew. "Castiel, do you know why _you_ were the one to save Dean in Hell?"

Intrigued, Castiel suspected there was some truth he was about to become privy to, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Narrowing his eyes, he answered without conviction. "No?"

"Because it _had_ to be you. Because it would _always_ have been you. You know, as every angel knows, that I created each and every one of you with purpose. And you were special, Cas. Before things… got away from me, there were truths that existed no matter what changes might have impacted the future. There was a reason that you were so readily willing to go against Heaven after you met Dean."

Where this was leading, he didn't know. Something grew inside of him with those words, hope maybe? Or fear? If he'd been destined to save Dean, what did that truly mean?

"You were always meant to find each other," God said softly, the compassion ripping Castiel right through. "You're what holds him together. I commanded you to save him and it was the first time in many long years that I had given such a direct order—but I knew, Castiel. I knew that it had to be you to find him in Hell. You're his other half! You're his light just as he is your compass."

God smiled warmly, looking very much like harmless Chuck with the expression.

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you what Dean will choose to do. I have my suspicions, but he has surprised me in the past." God smirked. The two of them could certainly share that opinion.

"Metatron's spell…it-it has extreme consequences. Dean's decision will affect us all, I'm afraid to say. When that ungrateful…douche, as the boys would say, included your Grace in the spell, I'm afraid a lot of dominos fell into place."

"What do you mean?"

Chuck waved him off. "First, let's start with Heaven. Ultimately, it's all interconnected anyway."

"Alright, how do I fix Heaven?" Castiel asked finally, walking to stand before his Father. All of his anger was held in check as he gripped onto the hope that he might see Dean again.

"To fix Heaven, you'll need a few things. Some I can help with. But the most crucial component, I'm afraid, is mostly on you. And it's contingent on Dean's decision. There is a chance that Heaven may never be fixed. I can't help much. But I can…set the stage, in a way. I'm sorry," he frowned. "It's the best I can do."

He stood there, waiting—not so patiently.

"Close your eyes, Castiel," God gently requested.

Suspicious, but complying, the darkness behind his eyes greeted him. A warm hand pressed against his chest, the warmth turning to heat, growing and building until he felt the power of Heaven reach into him. All of his senses lit up, the dark red backs of his eyelids blasted with white, and a power he'd once known—a familiar hum—settled fittingly into his form.

"Now that's more like it," said God.

 


	9. Bittersweet Resurrection

Sam barged through the door to find himself facing Dean's back. It threw him on a bender of a mind-fuck and even though he should've known better, he couldn't temper the hope.

"Dean?" he choked out, his arm stretching in the air.

His brother turned around, a wicked smile bending his features, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry—you're a bit late to the show." The words, the pitch of Dean's voice, were wrong.

"Abaddon?" Sam breathed in a grief-stricken voice. _No, no, no._

"You got that right, baby," she answered from within Dean, turning Sam's stomach. "So nice of the angels to leave this package for me," she purred, running manly hands down his brother's chest and stomach.

Sam fought not to collapse. "Give him back to me. _Now_. Or so help me—" he cut off the desperate plea, too enraged to continue. Or, more likely, too upset. Seeing his brother this way was something he hadn't prepared for.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I don't think so," she countered sweetly in Dean's voice, and it was all sorts of fucked up.

_Game on, bitch_. Sam lunged forward, demon-blade held tightly in his hand and ready to stab into his brother's body as many times as it would take to kill that hateful cockroach. In mid-stride, demonic force threw him across the room. His back slammed into the drywall, knocking the wind out of him.

Before he could regain a breath, he dropped to the ground, cracking his head sharply off the nightstand on the way down.

There were three more demons in the room when he could focus again. His head pounded with the sharp pain from his fall, and his spine ached from the impact but he dragged his body up off the floor, palm gripping the knife that he'd somehow managed to hold onto.

"Get out of him!" shouted Sam, striding forward for the second time. The adrenaline served as a fantastic pain-killer.

Sam was nearly within arm's reach when the three demons walled him in. One snagged his knife before all of them crowded into him, their strong hands grabbing at him. Sam twisted and thrashed, popping off a fist or two, but their strength and her power rendered his fight ineffectual.

Angry, hot tears welled in the corners of his eyes the longer he was forced to watch Abaddon control his brothers body, and worse, his expressions.

_Please, no… This can't be real. Don't let this—_

Abaddon and the three minions simultaneously whipped their heads around to the door. They'd heard or felt something he hadn't, that was clear. Sam's eyes frantically skipped between the demons' reactions and the door, and back again, but he couldn't fathom what might happen next.

All at once, he felt the vibrations, the low rumbling as the sound reached them. It boomed and boomed like uninterrupted thunder, rolling and shaking the motel. Wind howled and flashes of lightning flashed across the windows. The lights exploded around them in sharp pops, followed by the loud crack of the TV screen. The windows busted into shatters that sent glass flying in all directions. The five of them ducked to avoid the spray of jagged pieces that sailed around the room.

Panting for air, Sam flexed every muscle, unsure of what force was coming for them. For all he knew, it could be Metatron and they'd all get destroyed.

Blinding light pierced through every conceivable crack into the room and Sam slammed his eyes shut. The demons around him began to scream and he knew they were being snuffed. He could smell them all burning as the heavenly light tore through them, creating black holes where their eyes had once been.

A loud crack splintered the air and a whoosh of hot wind shot through the entire room.

" _Mmm-mmm_ , you certainly know how to make an entrance!" Dean's voice craned loudly over the thunder. Sam hesitantly lifted his eyelids. The demons that'd been restraining him were dead heaps on the floor by his feet. Quickly, he lowered and picked up his knife, shaking off the glass from his clothes.

Rising off his knees, his vision flashed up to see Dean's body blocking the shape in the doorway. But then the air shifted and he saw it—a flash of beige!

A wave of relief allowed his muscles to go lax. If anyone could save his brother, Cas could do it. For Dean, Cas would do anything.

"I command you to vacate that vessel." Castiel moved into the room like a force of nature. Powerful and strong. Sam was never more glad to see him.

" _Please."_ Abaddon smirked at the angel, curling a lip. "We both know you're all show." She dragged Dean's finger down the center of Cas' chest. The angel glanced down at it, unhindered and unbothered.

"You have no concept of the power I hold," Castiel replied as the room was thrown into darkness. The only light emanated from the angel's form. He glowed bright, his eyes becoming an iridescent blue, and long black shadows appeared behind him—both great and terrifying.

"How is this possible?!" Abaddon cried out. "None of the angels have had this power since the fall." She moved forward, despite the searing heat of Cas' exposed energy and tilted her head as if she could see into his mind.

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve," Cas told her. The angel dealt up a devilish grin, momentarily looking back at Sam to wink.

"Not enough, angel," Abaddon quipped back, moving closer. Though Castiel remained defiant in his stance, his head tilted back with his cold blue stare fixed on Abaddon, it didn't stop the Knight of Hell from reaching out and securing Dean's hands tightly around Cas' throat. The angel hardly reacted, and Sam watched in horror as the scene played out—looking exactly like his brother and Cas were about to kill each other.

"That's right, you pathetic ball of light: You. Can't. Touch. Me!" Abaddon's words were like steel, her grip tightening with each passing second. Sam stood there, dumbfounded, not sure if he should intervene, or what he could even possibly do? Dousing Dean's body with holy oil and lighting him up was _definitely_ not an option this time.

"Remove…yourself." Cas choked out around the pressure on his throat.

"Why bother?" Abaddon snarled into his face. "There's no one left in here but me, baby."

Her words sliced through Sam and he nearly fell to the ground. His brother was gone? Dean was gone? _No._ How could he have let this happen? How could Sam have let his brother go off alone? And… Oh, _God…_ they'd never even been given the chance to get things right. It was happening all over again, Sam thought, as the remorse etched through every vein. He had left things so horrible between him and his dad. And now Dean…his own brother! Who, in the end, had come to mean so much more than his own father had.

No…no way… This couldn't be happening. The room spun wildly and Sam wavered on his feet. He needed out of this horror show. He couldn't take it any longer. Tears clouded the demented scene before him. The reality was crippling, and Sam found himself in a state of stilled suspension. Watching, growing more and more detached. Wherever he drifted off to, it was a blessedly distant and unfeeling numb vacation.

"I'm quite certain you're wrong." Sam heard Cas say faintly.

What? What does that mean? Is Dean—

"Trust me, baby. I am the only thing in control of this hot hunk of meat." There was a feminine lilt to Dean's voice. All that former roughness scrubbed smooth for Abaddon.

"Not for long." Cas seemed damn confident. A wide, cocky smile even lifted his features.

What the hell was going on? Sam wondered.

Abaddon staggered. Seizing the opening, Cas reared his arms up between them and brought them down in blurry motion of speed, shoving the demon away from him. Sam watched as Castiel marched towards her, she stumbled back in shock—unsure of whether or not Castiel truly held the power to take her on.

"Dean?" Cas asserted loudly, staring into his brother's face.

"I told you—he's _not_ heeerrrrre!" Abaddon screamed. The last syllable warped into a screech as her features twisted with some inexplicable pain. "Ugghh _hh!_ " she grunted with the full sonority of Dean's voice. Garbled, demon sounds tore from her throat as Dean's possessed body torqued in the most inhuman display of contortionism. The entire upper half virtually rounded on itself. Sam had never seen anything like it before, he watched wide-eyed and terrified. He wanted so badly to peel his eyes away but he couldn't force his eyeballs to register the command.

"Nnnooo!" Abaddon bellowed, baring Dean's teeth at Castiel who smirked triumphantly. Between one millisecond and the next, the violent struggle Abaddon appeared to be having with herself stopped short. Her wide gaping mouth closed softly.

The room went still, both sets of eyes on the heaving chest and lowered head of his brother. Castiel watched carefully, waiting for something. It was that moment that Sam allowed himself to hope for the impossible.

Dean?

With a surge, Sam was unexpectedly aware again of his own heartbeat—as though the last ten minutes it had ceased to exist—and the return startled him with heavy disorienting thumps.

A slow grin spread across Dean's face, his eyes flashing with darkness. "Well this is even better _,"_ she sneered. Stretching out towards Castiel, Abaddon licked across Dean's lips and hummed.

Sam caught the flicker of panic in Cas' eyes. Unfortunately, so did Abaddon.

"You think this changes anything?" she asked smugly. "Please! I get off on hearing him yell inside of me. But you know what would be even better?" Abaddon purred, leaning down towards Castiel. "Feeling the great Dean Winchester thrash around in here as I relish in his pain by tearing into his beloved angel." After a dark laugh, she snaked out Dean's tongue…

And

it

just

kept

going.

Impossibly— _inhumanly_ —long; the pink wet tongue sought after Cas. Sam nearly hurled. Turning to the side, Cas stood unmoving and let her slide the demonic nasty thing over his cheek. Whatever outcome Cas had been hoping for, this damn well wasn't it.

Regardless of things going really fucking sideways, knowing his brother was alive was such an intense bout of relief that Sam almost didn't care that Dean was, momentarily, possessed. They could fix that! He didn't know exactly how yet, but they'd figure it out.

More demons appeared in the doorway, sliding past the splintered wood from where Cas had blown it apart. Fuck. As if they needed another hurdle.

Castiel's focus flashed to Sam and he gestured frantically with his eyes. Sam knew that Cas was telling him to get gone but there was no fucking way he was letting his brother out of his sight. Not again.

"Get rid of him." Abaddon nodded towards Sam and the demons turned and started moving in his direction. Sam braced for the impact, bending his knees to firm-up his stance.

Cas careened forward at the new arrivals, hand-outstretched ready to be the killing machine Sam had seen countless times. The attack was thwarted by Abaddon crashing into him—the two forces fumbled backwards several feet where they smashed into the wall on the back side of the room. Sam could hear them growling at each other, eyes dark and heated with the fight.

Sam rooted himself on the spot but there were too many demons and he knew it. He counted five, and thought maybe a sixth had entered to join the party as well. A loud smash and pieces of wood came flying across the room from Abaddon throwing Castiel clear across the space towards the far wall. The angel's body slammed into the same crevice that Sam had created with his own back earlier, splitting a two-by-four behind the crushed drywall as if it were nothing more than a toothpick.

He tore his eyes away from Cas' fight to focus on his own. They were all around him now, and before he could react, one appeared at his back and brought down something heavy and solid against the back of his head.

Sam dropped to the ground unconscious and they carted his body away.

/\/\/\

Castiel swiftly pulled himself upright, brushing the bits of drywall and chipped paint off his clothing as he faced off against the demon controlling Dean's body.

He hadn't been one-hundred-percent sure that Dean would return, but he felt he knew the man well enough. Faced with the option of returning, he'd believed that Dean would choose to live. If only to make things right with Sam. And maybe, Cas hoped, a part of Dean wanted to return for him as well.

"If you…" Abaddon began, rather out of breath "…just stayed complacent. Maybe I won't be…so hard on him. He's only my insurance after all, until I have total control. I can discard him like garbage afterwards if I want. I'll leave you all his bits and pieces when I'm through." The action between them had paused as she momentarily taunted him.

Castiel glanced around the room and knew Sam had been taken but he had to focus on one thing at a time. He wished he wasn't alone in this fight. God had placed an incredible weight on his shoulders and the bastard had somehow forgotten to mention what Castiel would be coming back to. All this knowledge to fix Heaven, and it was useless under these circumstances.

"What do you even want?" asked Castiel, harshly.

"To rule Hell; to defeat Crowley; to be the new Devil—I want it all, Angel," she intoned. Her delight made Dean's eyes sparkle. It was highly unnerving.

In fact, every syllable she uttered through Dean's voice and every expression she controlled of his features tore away at him. Castiel cracked—barreling forward in a flurry of motion. A thick hand abruptly halted his attack, the knuckles cracking as they squeezed around his wind-pipe.

The fiercest growl rolled past her grip; the threatening sound nothing he'd ever heard from himself before. She threw him by the throat against the only open wall that was still intact—not anymore, he realized as his body curved into the new shape of the plaster.

Using Dean's body, she pushed up against him. "You just won't let it go will you? You stupid insect." Her presence made Dean's breath smell rotten, and the heat of it rolled across his skin in a sickly way. The wall at his back made it impossible to pull away.

"Perhaps you both need a lesson in knowing your place in this brave new world."

Abaddon gripped Cas on either side of his face with every ounce of demonic force she possessed—which was excessive for a Knight of Hell. In bursts, she began uttering words in Enochian. How she knew them he'd not a clue. The spell rendered him unable to move or speak.

When the monosyllabic words ceased he felt the tight constriction of magic surrounding him and holding him in place. It was ancient work, and her knowing it astounded him. Not many angels even knew the full incantation of the spell, Castiel included. This was an outcome he hadn't planned for, and cursed himself for underestimating her.

Fighting against the invisible prison, his energy quickly depleted. Cold metal suddenly encased his wrists, held high over his head. Instinctively, Cas struggled against them. The thick iron rubbed against the knobs of his wrists, grating against the bone. It wouldn't be long before his skin chafed and blood ran down his forearm.

A sudden breeze on his bared chest felt cool against the open wounds that were being created. Because clearly the spell was not enough to satisfy Abaddon, she brutally carved an Enochian sigil that covered over half of his torso. It trapped him even more—a failsafe.

"I think we can return you the use of your voice—it'll be much more fun that way," she teased, saying a partial reversal of the spell in a single breath.

At least it gave him a modicum of strength to fight back. His voice, and his words were all he had now. All he needed was to reach out to Dean. If he could just break through to him, he could fix this. It was like the alley all over again except so much worse. There, Castiel had only needed to pierce through his nightmares. Now, the angel needed to get past the demon in control. And Abaddon wasn't just any demon, she was a Knight of Hell, and proven to be a lot more industrious and formidable an opponent than he first would have thought. His probability for success seemed to be shrinking with each passing minute.

_But_ , he reasoned, Dean was alive. Castiel had to remember that. To use it as his own strength, which he would sorely need.

Abaddon in Dean's flesh stood before him, proud and excited about her new toy. Castiel had seen the look before, he was no stranger to torture. In fact, he would've rolled his eyes if he thought it wouldn't make things worse. Things were about to get really bad, and Castiel could take it—whatever it was. No matter how bad it got, he could handle the torment.

But…Dean couldn't.

And he knew it. After seeing inside Dean's head—seeing how little the hunter thought of himself. Getting stuck with memories of beating into someone he loved would break him. By the gleam in Abaddon's eyes, she knew it too.

She dragged a bloody finger through the carved lines of his chest. The pain flaring as she made the journey through the patterns. He breathed in shallow cycles through the pain.

Grinning wide, she curled her fingers into his flesh on a low curve, digging in with her short nails and ripped out an actual chunk of him. A strangled noise erupted from him—impossible to contain, and his vision blurred. Trying to force his eyes open, they disobeyed, his eyelids fluttering uselessly against his cheek. Gritting his teeth, Castiel threw all his energy into lifting his head and baring his teeth.

Dean is alive.

Even tied up, Castiel met her challenge, staring into her eyes defiantly. She reared a closed fist backwards and then let it snap, cracking into his face. The pressure cleared for a second before the fist slammed back, and his head felt like it was going to explode.

Dean is alive.

"Think you're tough?" Castiel heard the distant voice through the ringing in his ears. Again, he forced his glare to meet hers. Seeing the green eyes only spurred him on. Castiel seethed, loaded up with fire and ready to take her on.

"Dean…" he croaked. The movement of his jaw lit off new throbs of pain. "Please…hear me."

Abaddon scoffed. "Oh, baby, he can hear you alright." She leaned forward and sharply bit his lip, drawing blood. It startled him, and Castiel tried to lick the blood away, but his jaw refused to cooperate.

"You know…he's trying hard, but he's no match for me," said Abaddon. "I told him what I plan to do next and he's roaring in here, thrashing around like it'll make a damn difference. It's the most amazing feeling," she gloated, warping Dean's voice to sound pleasured.

Castiel let his head hang listless to the side; he didn't care what she did. He could take anything.

Dean is al—

The mantra cut short in his head as Dean's hands ripped apart the clasp on Castiel's trousers and yanked them down roughly to his ankles. The cool air hit his legs. His blue eyes darted up in shock to find Abaddon beaming at him. Bewildered, it took him a moment to comprehend what was happening—or, he gathered, what was about to happen. He couldn't say that he was truly surprised. Abaddon taking this route of torture? Well, she was a Knight of Hell, and evil, after all.

"The…way you…choose to…torture…'not…matter," he murmured through the reduced mobility of his jaw. Judging by the flares of pain, he imagined much of his face was unrecognizable.

"Maybe not to you," she conceded sweetly, "but it will _destroy_ him." The devious smile she wore sickened him, not because of her threat or her intentions, but because of the way it made Dean's features look. Her plans, he agreed, would ruin Dean—having gotten inside Dean's head, just as he'd been, she would know his feelings inside-out if she drove in deep enough. It was no great mystery that this form of torture appealed most to her. Whatever he and Dean had, it was about to be used against them, and tragically, he knew it would forever change things.

"Dean, 'lax, it's-it's…okay," he whispered, trying to sooth his friend, even as he felt a rough hand grabbing too painfully to be even in the realm of sexual. And though technically the hand was Dean's, Castiel only felt the hot, revolting touch of the demon.

This was not Dean, and for that he could ignore it.

"Is…not you…" he assured, forcing himself to look into those green eyes, to look past the evil, to go as deep as he could to try and reach the soul he knew was somewhere buried inside.

"Don't you dare look at him!" she screeched.

In a flash, he was slammed back and around, his face crushing hard into the splintered drywall from the earlier fray. A distant part of him realized they were still in the motel and the door was wide open. Humanity, it seemed, had forsaken him. Though perhaps, the more likely scenario was that Abaddon and her demons had killed everyone.

And Sam, he thought miserably… Where had they taken him?

The next two hours would be… _unpleasant_. Ironically, the torture and whatever pain came with that wasn't meant for him, and both angel and demon knew it.

/\/\/\

Sam and Crowley stood side-by-side, covered in demon blood. The two of them had taken on the astounding total of seven demons that had captured Sam. His head was pounding and he had no idea where they were.

"Where are we?" he asked as he wiped blood off his face as best he could. He had several deep cuts that would need attention, but they felt like measly paper cuts for all he cared at the moment.

Priority number one: Get Dean back. Everything else could take a backseat or fuck off.

"We are…just outside Detroit. No idea why." Crowley told him with a shrug. "This was where I found you with them."

Despite Sam's hatred of the King of Hell, he sincerely appreciated the rescue. "Ah…. Thanks," he said awkwardly.

"You owe me!" Crowley jabbed a finger towards his chest.

"Yeah…" How about no? But, whatever, he'd go along with it for now. "Hey, how come it seems like all demons can just like friggin' zap everywhere now? What's that about?" Sam asked as he took in the surroundings of his new location.

"Abaddon." Crowley succinctly explained.

"Right." He nodded. "Take me back," Sam demanded.

Crowley raised his eyebrows in protest.

"Really, Moose? One beating not enough for you?!" The King's voice cracked like a slap on the hand.

"We need to help my brother. He's alive, Crowley!" Sam's air of purpose urged the demon into action. Crowley regarded him for a short minute and finally sighed in the most melodramatic exhale.

"Fiiinnneee!"

They stood seconds later on the same asphalt where the night had started. Sam had no idea how much time had passed. The motel was ominously deserted. Lights flickered in spastic patterns. The vacancy sign hung by a thin scrap of metal. One car was decidedly wrecked. A keening, high-pitched noise whistled from somewhere in the distance, and the pavement was littered with a mixture of dead angels and demons, and at least two humans that he could see. Bodies, and burnt eyes in contrast with burnt wings.

Amazingly, the Impala sat amongst the wreckage, not a scratch on her. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched at the thought that Dean would be happy his baby survived the violence of the night. The sharp gleam of the paint looked extra perfect amidst the chaos.

Moving his focus elsewhere, he came back to the splintered hole where a door once hung sticking out like a sore thumb, calling their attention. Crowley and Sam stared at it—exchanging an uncertain look with one another. No demons came out after them. No angels. No older brother neither.

They took a few cautious steps forward and then Sam doubled his pace, finally jogging all the way until he found himself standing in the open cavity of the motel room.

The state of the room, and the single body within it, dropped his jaw. Sam spun around, throwing his arms out quickly to shove Crowley back from the door. The King could not see this…it was bad enough Sam had.

"What the hell, Moose?!" Crowley protested, shoving him back.

"Leave," said Sam. "Just leave. I'll be fine." Unfettered, Crowley tried to peer around his body, but Sam grabbed him by the fancy shirt collar, " _GO_!" he shouted.

Crowley threw his hands up in defeat and backed away. "Whatever," he said, snapping his fingers. There and gone, just like that.

Mildly relieved, Sam turned back slowly, walking over broken glass and pieces of wood into the room. This would haunt him for a long time to come.

Squaring his shoulders and doing all he could to harden his guts, he bent down and scooped up the bloody, mostly unclothed body of his friend. The only remaining fabric on him was in tatters, hanging loosing from his ankles and his wrists. A grimace etched into his expression, and whatever preparations he'd taken to steal himself for this didn't hold strong as he felt the unnatural weight of the angel slumped in his arms.

Please don't be dead, he prayed. _C'mon…Cas._ It's not just Dean that needs you, buddy.

Holding Castiel in his arms, he peered down at the familiar features, most of which were swollen and covered in a crust of blood. The perpetually dry lips were split in two places, the bottom portion still trickling a drizzle of red.

"Cas…" Sam whispered, his throat clamming up. He quickly released a shaky breath when he felt a flicker of movement. It was hardly anything—a twitch really. But he knew Cas was alive, though maybe not for long.

Moving out of the room he realized he had nowhere to go, the bunker was hours away. He needed to fix the angel, but how? Sam headed into the adjacent motel room, kicking the door open, finding no one inside. No bodies either, which was sort of a surprise given the state of the place.

He eased his friend onto the bed, and rushed into the bathroom to get a damp towel.

"Cas? Dammit, can't you heal yourself?" he pleaded as he started wiping the mixture of wet and dried blood off of him. When he was done with Castiel's face and arms, he started on his chest and realized what was likely preventing the angel's ability to heal.

Sam obviously couldn't fix it. He could stitch it up, and maybe that would be enough. But as he looked down at his large hands, he saw their unsteadiness. It was all he could do, and he'd have to get through it.

When he was finished cleaning up the angel's front, he wadded up a sheet from the opposite bed and placed it against the shredded wound at the bottom of Cas' stomach. He then tried to gently push the angel over so he could check for more damage. As he eased Cas onto his front, making sure his battered face was turned to the side so it wouldn't be crushed into the pillows, he froze; a chill racing through him.

Never, in all his violent life, had the evidence of torture pained him this much. There were long cuts down the angel's back and Sam really didn't want to know what that meant. Especially, since they appeared to be exactly where Sam imagined the angel's invisible wings would be.

That sight alone should have been the worst of everything…it wasn't. Hot tears sprung to his eyes, and a lurch of nausea rolled through his gut.

_Oh God…_ his brother had— _No_. No. Abaddon had done this. He clenched his teeth tight, grinding them into one another in an effort to hold down the bile that suddenly felt spring-loaded in his throat.

You can do this, he coached himself. Sam attempted to detach from the job at hand as best he could, trying determinedly not to think about what he was cleaning up. When he was done, he eased Castiel, once more, onto his back and placed a comforter over his lower half.

A raspy breath slipped through Cas' lips as the blanket settled on him.

"Cas!" Sam leaned over the bed. "Hey, hey…you okay?" What a stupid question. Obviously he was not okay.

"How can I help? It's this symbol right?" he asked, his words panicky. "How do I get rid of it?"

Cas scarcely responded to his flurry of questions, but the angels fingers moved. Encouraged, Sam reached down to grab his hand and squeezed it. A jolt, painful and swift zapped through him—like being electrocuted. It zinged to his extremities like a hot spike, originating from the connection of their linked palms. He could see the strain on Castiel's face as he held on with monumental effort. When the angels hand finally fell away, Sam landed on his ass on the unforgiving motel room carpet.

His entire left arm tingled as if it had been asleep. Shaking it roughly, trying to get feeling back, he stood up. With a glance to the bed he saw that, miraculously, the carving on the angel's chest was gone. Sadly, the rest of the damage still remained.

Castiel's body twitched, and then shook, breaking out into full-body spasms, looking not unlike a seizure. Sam had no clue what he should do, not knowing what it meant, or whether this was bad or good. Going with only his knowledge of humans, he bent forward to use himself as a brace for the thrashing, but the instant their skin made contact, it burned and he was forced to jump back.

He watched, helpless, as the tremors continued, but after several minutes of staring in useless shock he began to see the change. The cuts, scrapes, blood, sliced lip…everything faded as Cas' skin became brighter and brighter.

Light erupted from the angels' orifices' and Sam held an arm across his eyes to shield them. When it faded, he lowered his arm to find Castiel laying there motionless, but, thankfully, completely healed. Though he was sure the healing only applied to the physical tortures.

"Castiel?" Sam whispered, reaching out hesitantly to touch the angel's shoulder. He braced himself for another burn but found only the plain warmth of skin. This time it was Cas who jumped at the contact, sitting up in a blinding motion.

"Dean!"

"Cas? It's me. It's Sam…"

The angel pivoted his head slowly to face him. Confusion spread across his features before he seemed to come back to reality.

"Sam…" Castiel acknowledged, eyes shifting around the room in such a distinct way that Sam could tell his angelic senses were stretching out far beyond the confines of these four walls.

"What happened, Cas? Where's my brother?" Man, he felt like a jackass for asking, knowing what had happened but he couldn't downplay his urgency. Sam noticed the flicker of something in Castiel's expression. Sorrow? Despair? Either way, it wasn't good.

"He's still…with Abaddon," Castiel explained, his voice thin. Poor guy probably felt guilty, but Sam had known overthrowing Abaddon wouldn't be so easy.

Scrutinizing Cas' restored body, he had to ask, "What happened when you healed? You grabbed my hand and it burned, and—"

"I used Gadreel's remaining grace within you to help heal myself."

Umm, excuse me? "He left grace in me?" said Sam, his mouth forming a line of disgust.

"Yes, and let's be thankful for that," Cas reproached. "Otherwise I might've died—being unable to heal myself."

A long awkward silence passed between them.

"Cas…" Sam treaded carefully. "Do you, um _,_ do you want to talk about it?" He put it out there and turned his eyes away, not wanting to make the guy uncomfortable.

"No." Castiel said definitively. "Besides," he continued, standing off the bed, clothes appearing instantly to cover him—looking as if nothing at all had happened. "It is not me you must worry about."

"But—"

"No."

"—Cas?"

"Sam, your brother needs us."

"Okay," he relented. "So how do we even get him back? Cas, we don't even know how to kill her!" Already, he felt defeated. The reality of the events of the night stretched tight and ragged like a disgusting scar that wouldn't go away.

"I can get her out. I have a way, but I don't know how to kill her. But it doesn't matter anyway because that's not the worst of our problems right now," Castiel stated gloomily as he met Sam's eyes.

"You're kidding me right." He stone-faced Cas, running both hands through his hair and pulling it roughly. "What the _fuck_ could be worse than-than my brother dying? Than him fucking being possessed by an immortal Knight of Hell!? And-and then what he-how she…" he choked on the words, shutting his damn mouth. And still, it was Cas who managed to look sorry for _him,_ despite the fact that he had been the goddamned victim of this fucking tragedy.

Fuming, Sam expelled his bitter curiosity, "What the hell could be worse than all of that?"

Raising his head, Castiel looked right into Sam's face and proclaimed: "We must lay siege to Hell, fight our way through, and retrieve your brother before something terrible happens."

The angel's declaration held courage, and single-minded purpose. Sam admired that, but it didn't change the fact that they couldn't do it alone.

"Then, we'll need all the help we can get."

 


	10. Planning for Hell

It was suffocating; every breath tasting like putrid garbage on his tongue.

A continuous itch plagued every inch of skin, but no amount of scratching brought Dean relief. Most likely because he was trapped in his own mind. Every breath burned, his eyes failed to focus, and with absolute certainty, he knew, he'd go mad here.

It was hard to explain, what being possessed felt like. His blurred sight would tell him he was standing in some non-descript defunct room in an abandoned building. But it was a lie. Dean could vaguely sense the movements of his body, the sights the demon saw through his eyes. The whole experience was like looking through a two-way mirror inside his mind—seeing himself and not himself.

Nothing more than a broken shell, letting it play out. Whatever Abaddon did now, he hardly cared. She'd done enough. She had done something so unthinkable that he lost the strength to fight. She made him experience every second of it and she hadn't bothered to clean up after and so, even now, he could feel it on him. The evidence. The loathing and disgust snaked around in his stomach and he wished he were dead. He would beg for it if he'd had the strength.

With no other choice, he watched, detached, as Abaddon made her way into hell. The hot, humid air saturated with the smell of burning skin and that metallic tinge of blood. She was murmuring to him, a quiet whisper in his ear. How excited she was that they were together; how she would show him how great the world could be; how they could rule it together. She reminded him of the power he'd once felt in Hell from the torturing of souls and Dean sat on the ground within the room inside his mind and let it wash over him.

She continued to speak to him like a lover's kiss, soft and enamored. He didn't call her a bitch, didn't yell at her. He sat and stayed quiet, hoping that she'd forget he was there.

Abaddon spoke to a few underlings and then made her way to take in the sights of the underworld from her perch up high on some balcony or jut out, he couldn't tell. Three areas of torture spread out below her. Each and every one not surprising to Dean. He'd been one of those rutted corpses once. And then the tides had turned and he'd caved and ripped through skin of his own volition.

The Knight of Hell watched through his green eyes, smiling with pure ecstasy. She slid a hand down his front and the view switched, going from two-player mode, to single game play where he was shoved into the front row seat. Evidently, she wanted him to experience this as well. Dean might have shrugged, or sighed, if he cared enough anymore to do even that.

What did it matter now, anyway?

As she fixated his eyes on a knife slicing laterally across the stomach of a victim, blood gurgling up, she rubbed along the length of flesh inside his jeans and only then did he react. A flinch and then it abated. She continued to stroke him as she became aroused from the sight of torture. He wasn't there, not really. He felt the touch, the slip of skin as she pulled him out—demons below watching of course—and she began stroking him rough and hard. There was bile rising in his throat that he couldn't help—an automatic reaction. But his mind stayed blank as she continued masturbating, watching, reaping pleasure from the debasement below.

As distant from this moment that he was, a part of him still registered the very worst parts of it. It wasn't even that she was touching him, or masturbating to torture. It was that, from his vantage point _he_ felt aroused. Not in that secondary, echo of feeling, but the direct burning hum of arousal and he hated it. He'd rather feel nothing. But he wasn't that lucky. The worst part…worst of everything, was the proof that still glazed his cock, easing her touch and slide of his palm.

Dean curled away from every one of his senses as best he could but it wasn't much use. She was in full control. When she climaxed, he shivered with pleasure, hating himself, wanting to break down and cry, but he didn't have the will, or even the presence of mind.

"It's okay baby, I run the show now. But don't worry, we will be _so_ great, you and I," she purred, stroking him languidly before tucking his limp dick away.

He didn't reply.

What would be the point?

/\/\/\

Sam and Castiel hadn't rested since returning to the bunker. They'd been calling people non-stop. Castiel left every so often to bring people back, both of them thankful that the guy's wings were undamaged following Abaddon's apparent attempt to remove them.

Now, the formerly abandoned bunker was bustling with life.

Sam glanced around and took in the sight of almost ten hunters that had responded to their desperate plea. They weren't provided with full details yet but it astounded him how dedicated this lot were. Most surprising of all, was Crowley; helping at every turn. Sam assured himself that it was because Crowley wanted Abaddon out of the way but something nudged at him the more he thought about it. Maybe it was the trials and Sam's blood, but whatever the reason, Crowley was different. A shred of a heart or decency. It was hard to pinpoint exactly and Sam didn't much trust him either way, but he would gladly take the help offered to get his brother back.

The hunters that answered and accepted their request knew the danger, they knew it involved going into Hell, not many would do so willingly, but as Sam had learned long ago—hunters were ballsy and arrogant. Besides, if they could take a shot at evil, they'd do it wearing a grin.

It was hard to adjust to the change from being relatively alone for so long to now having to dodge people as they walked past him in the halls, to have to wait for the bathroom, or shower, or not having to cook because someone had already done it. The bunker had turned into a command center in many ways—perhaps as it should have been all along.

Sam made his way down the wide hall, brushing past Cale who gave a 'Howdy' as he sauntered past. He finally managed to get into the library and found a vacant seat at the big table. Cas was talking to a woman behind him in low hushed whispers.

"We'll get him back," she said quietly to Cas; clearly offering comfort. The angel must have nodded because Sam didn't hear a response otherwise. The female hunter walked past Sam and disappeared around the corner down towards the kitchen.

Castiel came to stand beside him.

"Do you think it's enough?" Sam asked.

Cas looked thoughtful for a long minute. "I sincerely hope so."

The guy's bravado from a few days ago had started wavering. Sam noticed the change instantly. Then again, he'd been watching Cas like a hawk ever since they got back. Neither had said a word about what they knew had happened. Sam tried to ignore it because Cas really didn't seem to be bothered by it any more than he would've from run of the mill torture. He tried hard not to let pity show through on his features but sometimes it slipped and Cas would give him a sad look.

Like…right now, actually.

"Sam, please stop thinking about it," said Cas, his voice low, trying not to be heard by others in the room.

"I'm sorry, it's just, are you sure you're okay?" Sam felt weary with concern.

"I'm fine." Cas clipped off, walking away. The response being anything but, Sam followed after him. They ended up around the end of a bookcase and out of view.

Cas spun to face him. "What!?"

"It wasn't Dean."

"Gee, Sam, thanks for the revelation." Cas' use of sarcasm didn't throw him. Sam held back a response and decided to wait patiently, just in case.

Eventually, Cas' features softened, his eyes closing for a long breath. "Really Sam, I'm fine. I know it wasn't Dean, and to be completely honest, I don't think an angel would see it the same way as a human would. We don't have the same _connections_ to our bodies that you do. Was it pleasant? Obviously not. The only part of it that haunts me is knowing what it did to your brother. I can handle what happened, but he can't. So, forgive me, but we need to make haste to Hell because I am absolutely terrified that if we're too late, there'll be nothing left to save."

Sam blinked as the understanding of Cas' words settled around him. He hadn't thought of it that way and now that his eyes had been opened, he knew what Cas said was true. Dean was going to be dead when they found him, even if his heart was still beating, that would only be a technicality of his body functioning.

"Oh, shit." Castiel nodded empathetically.

"I think it's time to brief everyone and make our plans. We need to leave soon."

Cas went off, rounding up the group. Sam knew he needed to be there but instead he found himself seated on the edge of Dean's bed fifteen minutes later, unable to move.

His head hung low between his legs as his breathing stuttered in his throat. He was so close to losing it and the only thought that kept him grounded was knowing that two Winchesters couldn't be out of commission at the same time. What would happen to the world? The bitter sarcasm left a taste in his mouth and he tried to swallow it away.

A soft, fresh smell entered the room as the air swooshed in as a result of the door being shut. Sam had grown accustomed to that smell and his muscles relaxed.

He wasn't sure when it had started happening. Maybe even so far back as when they'd fought the God of Time. Something about her eased him in a way that nothing else had since Jess.

Hands came to rest on his shoulders, subtly rubbing into the muscles and Sam angled forward to rest his head on her stomach.

"Sam, we'll get him back," Jody said, running a hand through his long hair.

He huffed indifference 'cause he really didn't know anymore. Would they get Dean back? Maybe his body, but Dean? Sam was losing confidence.

She shushed him and offered comfort and he took it. He was greedy for it because it was so rare that it come so easy to him, so natural.

When he sat up to look at her, she brought a hand to his face and rubbed below his eye with her thumb. "You look like shit," Jody said sweetly and it managed to bring a small laugh out of his tight throat.

"You say such nice things to me." Sam tried his best to smile for her.

"Cas is waiting for you," she reminded him. With a nod, he moved to get up. As he stood, he bent and wrapped his arms around her waist, her arms came up around his neck and he squeezed and straightened, lifting her off her feet.

"Thank you," he whispered against her ear. She squeezed tighter. When he could handle letting go, he lowered her to the ground and walked towards the door with her trailing behind him. Part of him should be thinking more about whatever this was but he'd worry about it at a time when the bunker wasn't filled with hunters readily volunteering for a trip to Hell to save a brother that might not even care to be saved by the time they got there.

Castiel's revelation had really hit him hard. The depression wrapped around him and threaded through his veins like a cancer. The optimism washed away and he was left with a black hole that felt fucking endless.

Despite all that, Sam did his best to put on a strong face when he entered the library. Cas needed him to be strong and so did the others. No matter what condition they found Dean in, Sam would still risk his life because he wouldn't give up on Dean, just like Dean hadn't given up on him.

And just like that, Sam couldn't care less about what Dean had done. Shoving an angel inside of him without his permission no longer felt like such a big deal anymore. _This_. Right now. Making plans to go into the realm of damnation— _that_ was a big deal and it deserved all of his focus.

"You know why we've brought you all together and some of you know each other, some of you don't. I have been told that it is rare you work together but I implore you to heed my desperation for team work. Nothing else will give us more success than that. Trust me, this is not my first foray into perdition. Oddly, this will be the second time I make my way into Hell to save the same man. I believe you have all met Dean Winchester at some point and that is likely the reason you have all said yes without any hesitation."

There were nods around the room, smiles even. It warmed Sam's heart.

"We have inside knowledge, as it were." Cas said with a faint grin. On cue, Crowley walked in behind him. "Don't be alarmed, yes Crowley is a demon."

"King of Hell, in fact," added Crowley cheekily.

"Yes." Cas rolled his eyes and got back into it. "He is helping us because he wants Abaddon dead as much as we do and for the time being he's trustworthy. We will at least know where we need to go. She's cornered herself up in Hell because she that's where she is making her efforts to overtake the underworld from Crowley. Trust me, that if she were to succeed it would be…catastrophic. Hell won't be anything like you expect—of course it's dark and sticky, you feel disgusting the entire time you're there, but its reality is fluid and can take you for a ride if you let it. Focus and reliance on the others will be what holds you together. I am not affected by it, but you will be. Demons may take on the form of loved ones and try to slow us down, please don't let them. Basically assume everything is not real. Unless they are coming at you, then by all means fight." Cas continued his overview of Hell and what people should expect, it made him sound like a professor and Sam caught himself smiling, despite his recent bout of despair.

They went through the details: when they would leave, teams they would break up into, weapons they would need, and a number of other things. It occurred to him that they were waging a sort of mini-war and the thought brought a flood of dread crashing over him. As long as he'd been a hunter, he'd never been a part of something like this. Yes, the apocalypse had been huge but it was still just him and Dean fighting it for the most part. Now he was part of a mini group of soldiers getting ready to march through frigging Hell of all places. It was both terrifying and exciting.

They would be on their way in less than forty-eight hours. Sam decided it was time for a word with the King of Hell.

/\/\/\

Cale had his ass parked on the tiled floor behind a stack of books, his legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles propped on yet another stack of books. He was at ease with everything. He'd always loved a good fight, definitely a challenge. When Sam had put this gem in his lap, he'd slapped his leg in excitement.

He had blond hair but it was always buzzed short and tight to his scalp. A persistent tan that would no doubt turn into leather if he lived long enough—which was unlikely given his employment situation but he'd made peace with that long ago.

A hard jaw and toffee eyes made him a decent looking man. Not a ton smart but he could fight and he had sass by the bucketful. Raised in Millersview, Texas, just east of the I83, he had a strange welcome into the hunting world. The story was more than unique, as hunters go.

When he'd been shy of nineteen, a woman came through town that was so beautiful she made you sit up straight and wipe your mouth on a napkin instead of your sleeve. He didn't speak a word to her for months, gathering that she kept mostly to herself.

In late summer, a calf had gotten tangled up in one of the fences on his family's property. Babe musta been sick or runnin' cause they didn't normally volunteer for barbed-wire death for any other reason. He'd been makin' his way out on Willis with a shotgun slung across his back when the girl came from nowhere hightailing it across the land.

He trotted up to her, blocking her path, "Hiya, where you runnin' to?" Cale had asked.

"I don't want to go back. I'm not like that," she pleaded, her accent northern and sophisticated.

"You don't need to go anywhere you don't want," he replied and eased a hand down to pull her up onto Willis behind him.

She looked all shades wary of his offer but she saddled up behind him, arms slung around his waist and he headed forward.

"Just need to take care of somethin', and then we'll get ya figured out," said Cale.

She hardly said one word the entire time he rode out to the edge of the property and put the calf out of it's misery with a practiced shot. It slumped against the fence and the body would need to be taken care of but his priority was now seated behind him.

He cracked the reins and the horse galloped back towards the house. Once inside, he'd offered her sweet tea because his parents had raised him right. She sipped it with nervous tension all around her like a cloud.

Her name was Hannah. Light blonde hair, straight as an arrow. Pale skin and black, black eyes (on occasion).

Hannah had been a demon.

He hadn't known at first, she never told him straight away. Just said she was runnin' from some bad people and that was all he'd needed to know at the time. He let her stay on the farm while his parents were up in Colorado visiting his sister for the summer, who'd just given birth to child number three. He'd stayed behind to keep up the place.

They never said much at first, she helped and made dinner and it was like having a housemate. One long night, he'd gone and kissed her and everything changed. He'd learned she was a demon but she hadn't wanted to be. She'd given her soul to save her father from a terrible illness, some long medical name that Cale could never remember. When she was sucked into Hell, the torture had been unbearable. The poor woman quickly gave in and they forced her to torture or to get back on the rack; she chose to torture. She didn't know how long she'd been down there but when she was set free as a demon and told to kill people on earth, she ran instead. And that was how she'd come to stay with him.

He wasn't scared of her. Perhaps he should've been, but in the end he discovered that his naivety was not for nothin' and he'd been right about her. Well perhaps stupid is what some would call it. Regardless, when they came for her, she protected him—gettin' herself killed in the process. He killed his first demon that night, but it would'na been his last.

Flipping back to the present, he found himself smiling. Hell was gonna look into his mug as he tore that hole up for what it did to that woman—turning her into something she'd never wanted to be—all for the sake of saving her dad.

Shit wasn't right.

/\/\/\

Abaddon loooooved her new meat-suit. This body was just so damn delicious; smooth and hard. Unfortunately, the man inside bored her. She couldn't get a rise out of him no matter what she did—and, boy, she'd tried a lot.

But not everything, she purred. Straining her senses to feel Dean inside, she poked at him, taunting a reaction from him. _We're just getting started sweetheart._

They'd come for her and she would be ready, a grin spreading across her new face. She will say she missed the clothes and makeup that had come with the previous body, but where that form had been pristine and polished, this one was rugged and hard—perfect for taking over Hell.

Always ready for a fight, this body.

Her territory was well guarded, even from Crowley, and if Dean's boys managed to get this far? Then she'd just have to make sure that what they came for was nothing like the Dean they knew. She'd bend him and break him and mold him to her will. Dean Winchester would become her masterpiece.

"You ready for it, sweetheart? We're gonna have all kinds of fun, lover."

/\/\/\

Castiel found himself down in the vast garage. He and Sam had driven the Impala back that night and parked it here. They wouldn't need it with what they were doing so it was staying put. Safe, he thought.

Opening the driver side door, he slunk down into the worn seat. He ran his hands over the steering wheel, the leather smooth under his skin. The car smelled like Dean, clean like soap with an undertone of alcohol and sweat. He felt the heat rise up inside of him as he remembered what God had told him, his eyes burned with the memory of Dean's death, and most of all he struggled with the vision of Dean's soul that had shattered before his eyes that night at the motel.

Castiel hadn't lied to Sam, the physical component of the torture was nothing to him, but the emotional torment of watching Dean's soul, feeling it tear apart was what made him want to scream as loud as he could and break everything in this entire place with the resonance of his voice.

One step forward, two steps back. That was a saying he knew. Except it could be more accurately reworded as one nudge forward before being pushed off the edge of the earth, struggling and grappling in a pitiful attempt to stay on the spinning planet; all the while it doing its damndest to shoot you off into space.

His grip was tight around the steering wheel and the only thing stopping him from breaking it in half was knowing that Dean wouldn't be pleased. That is, if he even cared about such things anymore.

Castiel would have to be a leader tomorrow. It frightened him considering his last attempt in that department. But in the end, no matter what shape Dean was in when they found him, it wouldn't matter. Cas would go to the ends of the universe to save him, even if all he got back was pieces; a shattered soul and broken body.

He heard footsteps coming across the cement but didn't look up. The passenger door creaked open and Sam sat down with a _thump_ , the whole car moving with his heft.

"You left out an important detail back there," Sam noted.

"I know."

"You need to tell me." Sam had turned to face him, a stern look making his features rigid.

Cas withdrew a small bottle from the inside of his coat pocket. It was a tiny clear vial that glowed bright with its contents.

Sam's reaction was as expected. Cas placed it back in its spot.

"What the hell is that?" It was an obvious question, with an obvious answer.

"The grace I stole." The words disgusted him. He'd come a long way from Heaven, but no amount of distance could lessen the feeling of such a repulsive action as taking another angel's grace as your own.

"If that's the one you stole, that what grace do you have now?" Sam asked but then barreled forward before he could respond. "Which reminds me! How did you actually get your wings back? What happened Cas? Where did you go? Crowley said you like vanished, in a way he'd never seen before. Cas…it's time you tell me everything."

Shifting in his seat, he angled sideways, thoughtfully meeting Sam's hazel eyes. "It's a long story and some of it is not mine to tell, but I'll tell you what I can." He took a long pause and a deep breath. "I met God."

"Uhm, God? Like God _God_?" Sam sputtered, baffled.

"Yes. When Dean"—Castiel struggled to breathe—" _died_ , God pulled me back to Heaven. There, he gave me back my grace and my wings. He told me how to fix everything… He told me a lot of things. I was so furious, Sam. That whole time he'd stood by and let it all happen. He'd even pretended to be our friend and did nothing!" Cas' voice crept higher, making the car feel shrunken.

"Our friend?" Sam cocked his head.

"Chuck."

Cue the jaw dropping. _Yes_. Castiel was past this revelation and didn't let Sam waste time freaking out over it. More important things demanded their attention.

"Yes. You can imagine my own surprise. But he gave me my grace back. Which is what I have now. And he's assured me he will or already has taken care of Metatron but everything else is up to us. Gadreel is dead by the way, I'm not sure if you knew that; if you saw him in the parking lot when you were there."

"Uh, no, I didn't." Sam stared vacantly. "Huh." The younger Winchester didn't appear to know how to react to this news. Happy the angel was dead? Upset it wasn't by his own hands?

"If we can reach Dean when we find him and get him to say yes, my grace will go into him and that will force Abaddon out. But we somehow need to get him in control…and so far I don't know how to do that."

"God didn't tell you?"

"No." Cas replied in obvious tone. "God didn't tell me how or even why it would work. Abaddon is a Knight of Hell, I'm nothing more than a foot soldier—why my grace can push her out, I'm not sure. Though I have suspicions, based on some of the things God told me. Each angel, all of us, was designed with a purpose. Sometimes that purpose was general: A leader, a foot soldier, a healer, and so on. Other times, possibly like myself it seems, some of us were made with extra…detail."

"Well that sounds ominous." Sam said, blowing a breath out through his nose.

"Doesn't it?" Cas shook his head in agreeable disbelief. The reality, of course, had a certain positivity—not one he'd be willing to share with Sam yet.

"So that's your plan? We slice and dice through Hell and somehow find Abaddon and attempt to get past her to Dean, and then after all that get Dean to say yes."

Summed up perfectly.

"Yes, but please try not to sound defeated before we begin," said Cas, forcing a smile.

Sam puffed his cheeks and blew out a long exhale, then turned and forced a smile back. "Let's give'em Hell then!" the brother said encouragingly.

They shared a laugh but it was bitter and dismal. Sam clapped him on the shoulder and left.

In Sam's absence Castiel remained in the car. He let his mind wander aimlessly, trying not to focus on anything that would upset him. But the smell…. _God_ , the smell in that car crowded his senses.

_Please be okay. I miss you. We… Dean, we deserve better than this. Please be okay. I will find you, I promise. I will always find you. We're supposed to be together, remember? It's what you said once…_

/\/\/\

Many guests at the bunker that night sought comfort with one another. Friends that hadn't seen each other in years stayed up to reminisce and enjoy the company with a few drinks. Some went after the simple need for a quick, heated physical connection.

Cas never came back upstairs and Sam imagined he spent the night in the car, breathing in Dean's scent. Sam had taken Dean's room, letting someone else stay in his since there weren't enough beds for everyone. It had gone unsaid that no one other than Sam or Cas would be allowed in Dean's room. Now, though, Sam was tempted to break that unspoken rule.

He was lying over the covers on his back nowhere close to sleeping. He doubted he'd be able to sleep even if he tried.

The door creaked open and he sat up hoping it wasn't someone needing something. Jody closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed. She didn't say a word as she brought a knee up on the end and crawled towards him. He reached for her and pulled her down on top of him, closing his mouth over hers in silent acceptance of whatever this was.

She opened and let him in and, _God_ , he savoured her warmth. Clothes were slow to come off. There was no rush and he didn't want it any other way. Man, when the hell had they decided that this was where they were going? Whatever had built between them had been indistinct for so long, and now it was...full of heated kisses and making use of a bed. It felt natural for them. 

Sam pushed her naked body down onto the bed and settled himself over her. He kissed her slow and deep, watching her reactions to his kiss, to his stare, to the way he pushed apart her legs with his knee.

They seemed to captivate each other with a level of comfort that one wouldn't normally find in such a new relationship. It was so damn easy with her, he realized. She just welcomed him to her, letting him take what she offered and it was beautiful, and he felt terrible for it.

She pushed up to return the kiss, a soft wet tongue slipping into his mouth. Everything about her was soft, and honest. Sam moaned into her mouth and it seemed to startle her as if she hadn't expected him to make a peep.

The kiss broke apart and they stared at each other; a list of questions with no answers.

"I want you, Sam. I'm not here for pity," she said, brushing the hair off his forehead and holding it away from his face.

He glanced away as he tried to gather his thoughts, it wasn't fair to her. He couldn't give anything back, but he settled for the moment's truth in the end. It was all he had.

"I want you too."

Jody kissed him and wrapped her legs around his waist, the movement set him up perfectly in line with her core, the heat already starting to warm him.

Sam hit the brakes—a light coming on inside his head. "Uhh… Shit, we almost forgot!"

In the middle of wondering where Dean kept condoms in this place, Jody reached up and took his face in her hands. "I'm on the pill and clean, so if you're good?" She let the question hang between them.

Relieved, his head dropped into her shoulder. Thank God! Because he wasn't sure Dean had any condoms in his room and was not about to ask any of the other hunters.

Out of nowhere, Sam laughed. "How sad is it that I actually haven't had sex in, like…months."

She smiled up at him and it was damn beautiful. "You and me both!"

Her acceptance of him, even as messed up as he was with Dean gone, made the hollow sensation in his gut lessen. Dipping low, Sam kissed her cheek as sweet and reverently as possible as he pushed forward feeling her heat and wetness consume him. The connection burned the recent chill right out of him.

He kept an eye on her reaction because he knew that he was a bit on the larger side but her face seemed to melt with every inch he gave her.

The first full thrust, she surprised him by practically shouting. Automatically worried about travelling sound, he put a hand over her mouth and they gazed at each other, giggling like teenagers.

"Holy mother of fuck, Sam! You're huge!" she blurted the second he moved his hand. Though it was a compliment he'd heard before, only her saying it got him to blush. Her brand of directness was a definite turn-on for him.

Hips advancing and pulling back, Sam smoothly controlled his thrusts, giving her as much or as little of him as the notion struck him. The vice of her legs held firm around his hips, her heels digging into his ass. Jody was loud, he discovered, but he loved it.

It wasn't long before he fell in love with the sound of her voice and decided he couldn't get enough, wanting to find new ways for her to moan, new positions that would make her yell his name.

Easing up and back, keeping her legs tightly secured around his waist, he adjusted himself into a kneeling position with her up around his hips. His long arms wrapped around her smaller body, holding her up off the bed. With his hands gripping her skin, Sam started pistoning her down over him. Every time she bottomed out with a loud smack, her ass hitting his thighs, she cried out.

The exertion of lifting her up and down over him left him slick with sweat, his thighs straining as he held himself in the position. And, damn, the feel of her wet heat engulfing him had him moaning and yelling almost as loud as she was.

He slowed down as he felt his orgasm building up and started rocking her over him in slow measured thrusts, her head fell back with breath flowing out of her like water, rippling and loose like she was high. Arching over, Sam sucked at her throat, keeping one hand around her waist and the other moving down to grab her ass for greater leverage.

Sam bent them both towards the pillows and hooked his arms under hers, wrapping his fingers over her shoulders from the back. The grip and position gave him purchase to fuck her onto his cock as hard and rough as they both seemed to want.

With all of her bared to him, Sam saw when her muscles began to quiver. Moving hard against her, Sam sealed their lips together, circling his tongue inside her mouth. Their teeth banged with the increasingly jarring movements.

At the very peak of pressure that tightened his nuts, Sam abruptly slowed the pace. Easing her onto his cock, feeling every inch get lost inside, the plush, soft grip travelling from tip to base.

"Ahhh… fu-u-u-ckkkk." Sam's cock kicked once, twice, and all at once his orgasm spewed into her. This set her off, both of them shouting curses as they pressed together.

After a heartbeat, she was shuddering, her insides gripping him. Sam crushed their bodies together, trying to crawl inside as deep as he could during the post elation of his release.

He kissed her for a long while after that. Even after pulling out, they settled down into the bed, his arms wrapping around her damp body, both of them falling back into a slow dance of tongues and lips in lazy motions.

Despite the dread of the following adventure hanging over them, they both managed to drift off, getting the rest they would desperately need.

 


	11. We Leave Perdition as Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a crappy manip for this chapter cause it was stuck in my head. Enjoy. :)

Each day on earth equaled nearly four months in Hell. Abaddon used her time wisely. Plotting here and there, knowing that the hunter's loved ones would come for him one day. _That_ , or Crowley's supporters would try to overthrow her growing influence.

When she wasn't actively plotting, scheming, or campaigning, she amused herself with Dean. Most often, he was a ghost inside of her after what would have felt like years for him of endless twisted degradation. She had seen his memories of Hell; all of the pain that Alistair had dished out; his triumph when Dean took that blade and sliced and diced like the man was born to do it.

Naturally, that had been her starting point when she tried to get a rise out of him after the incident at the motel. He hadn't responded even the slightest to her using him to torture or her letting his body be tortured while she slid into the background.

She got creative after that; warping reality to create fun little scenarios for the hunter to enjoy. At first, she replayed what they'd done together to his precious angel. After that she started taking his body for a real spin, getting him used to pain—wanting it and liking it. She slowly twisted his reactions, changing his body to respond the way she wanted it to.

It helped, of course, that she enjoyed the playtime herself; just as much as she loved fucking with Dean.

When the physical stuff bored her, she'd set up illusions for him. Abaddon would trap Dean inside a rollercoaster of being forced to watch his mom be torn apart by his brother, slicing at her as she screamed. And then switch to his dad beating on poor Sammy. Moving fast to the next play she had mirages of Sam and Castiel kill each other, or fuck each other—whatever she was in the mood for. After the little mind games, she'd slip back to her old favourites. Abaddon had a knack for all things demented and dark. She got off on it. And really, what was Hell without pain and fucking and humiliation—Why not pair them all?

Abaddon loved to challenge herself. She imagined she was like the evil entity from The Fifth Element: Violence begets violence. The more she surrounded herself with the untainted, wild insanity of Hell, the stronger she became. Crowley's hold over the underworld was growing looser by the day whereas hers was thriving.

And her play thing? The infamous Dean Winchester. It had taken a long time before she knew she'd managed to change him. In the beginning, he'd hardly said a word to her, and he barely fought. There had been only a few times since they'd been together that he'd tried to fight her—one time she'd made him think he was attacking his kid brother. Another time she'd distanced herself in the middle of a delicious one-way pleasure ride. And despite her letting go of the reigns, he'd kept going, unable to stop. The dawning of his new monster status left him screaming, knowing what he'd become—how wrong and messed up he was.

Those times, and a few key others were the high points. But after that last time, Abaddon realized she'd pushed too far because nothing got him to scream like that again. Dean became resigned to his fate. The once hunter passively accepting his new state of being one with her; sharing in her joys and perverted pleasures.

After a few hours of sadistic joy, she stretched a hand down his skin, preferring him clothesless when she wasn't working. "I told you we would be great together," her words licked into him and Dean shuddered, feeling oh so good.

/\/\/\

Breaching through the realms was painful. Sam felt like his body had sidled up beside fire and ice, burning against his skin as they found their way striding onto a hard surface from where they'd emerged into Hell. Castiel stood in front of him, looking strong and purposeful. The angel was, in fact, a great leader. Especially when it came to battle. They were all in groups. Sam with Cas of course, Jody and Cale behind them, and a few others after that. Crowley, and the King's demons as their Trojan horse, were far ahead trying to pave the way as discreetly as possible.

Hell looked similar to when Sam had seen it before—when he'd come to get Bobby. The same darkness, tinged with sinister lighting. A wet, sickly-sweet smell poured into his nose and he stifled a gag, swallowing down the bile.

Cas pulled out his angel blade just as a demon stepped into their path, the blade was fast and precise. Cas turned back to look at Sam, _Here we go_ the look said.

It wasn't long after that before there were demons, hordes of them, coming after them. Sam wondered if Hell had the equivalent of a trespass alarm that was soundly beating out somewhere, warning all the demons of their arrival.

Cas shouted his name and Sam snapped around, sinking Dean's purgatory blade into a demon at his back.

He heard Cas grunt and rounded back to see the angel with a leg outstretched and a demon soaring ten feet down the hall. Two hunters ducked as the body sailed over their heads.

"Jesus!" One of them cried out before turning to face the new threat—back to back with his partner.

"Go! Go!" Sam yelled to Cas, running to catch up with him.

They slashed a few more demons before finding themselves on the ledge cropping out over a deep wide cavern stretching nearly a hundred feet across. Stairs went in every direction, fire erupted in random places, sharp edges jutted out dangerously, screams could be heard coming from every direction, flashing lights busted out of small holes and rooms that were scattered along the walls that sank deep towards an endless pit…

"If I ever needed a picture of hell…" Sam stated and looked over at his friend, his eyes wide.

The angel glanced around strategically before finally gesturing to the far upper left. Sam nodded, hearing others storm around the corner behind him, running and halting—their breathing quick and rushed. He turned to make sure Jody was still among them. She was… she was bloody, but alive. Thank God.

Following the trajectory of Cas' gaze, Sam took note of the biggest gap in the rock face. Tall, sharp towers of rock sprung up from the base in a majestic, frightening display. They definitely weren't about subtle displays of power down here, huh?

"He's there," Cas muttered softly, turning to walk towards a staircase that had actual skulls littered on several steps. Sam imagined there would be more as he began the climb.

Unsure, and taking every ounce of caution, Sam ordered a couple of the groups to take a different route than them. Just in case.

A third of the way up the grim ascension through Hell, a thing more creature than demon landed heavy on the stairs in front of them. It snarled, its breath coming out in hot rank mist. Black drool dripped from its toothy mouth. Moving to stand at Castiel's side, Sam swallowed down the dry lump in his throat and prepared himself. Their shoulders bumped, creating a barrier on the narrow staircase—the one without rails over an endless pit… in Hell.

 _Oh fuck,_ Sam thought. _We are so, so screwed._

He took a quick assessment of Cas on his right, seeing utter calm on the angel's features. It was deathly and cold, and Sam dimly wondered which thing he should be more afraid of.

"Close your eyes, Sam," Cas' voice was frighteningly lifeless. But he did as he was told, gesturing behind him for the others to do the same.

Light blasted against his eyelids as he heard the most terrifying scream he's ever heard in his life. It was guttural and sickly, like evil itself was being tortured. A disgusting smell mixed with humid air whooshed in a gust over him, and Sam pressed his lips tight together in an attempt to quell the threat of heaving.

The light recessed, the back of his eyelids no longer red, and Sam opened his eyes slowly, turning to see Cas looking stone-cold, his face expressionless but hard as the angel gazed down at the puddle of black and gore at their feet.

"Cas?" Sam's voice shook, suddenly afraid of what all of this shit had done to the guy. If Sam lost both of them, he didn't know—

—A scream pierced the colossal space, coming from behind him and he turned to see Maggie, Jeff's partner, falling over the side, a blade sticking out from her chest. Jody, Jeff, and Cale reached out but she was gone… and then she disappeared in front of his eyes. Another blade flew through the air at them.

They were definitely under attack.

Castiel appeared with a loud flapping noise in front of him holding Maggie in his arms. The guy yanked the knife out carelessly, wrenching a scream from her, then healed her before passing her quickly off to Jeff, "Take her, and don't lose focus again," Cas barked at the guy, shoving Maggie into the dude's waiting arms.

Waving his hand in the air in a wide arc, Castiel derailed the deadly objects flying at them, sending it all soaring off into other directions—precisely hitting targets on their return trip. Unfazed, Cas strode past him and kept going. It took a minute for Sam to regain control of his body. He shared a look of concern with Jody and started jogging up the steps to follow the angel.

They were so close now. But they'd had to get out of that open cavern as they were too much of a target, so now they were working their way through the far side of the open space, making their way through new threats, several storeys below where they needed to be. More and more demons came; some resembled humans, and some were no more than beasts. Some took on the forms of loved ones. This was probably the hardest of the adversaries they faced. But they were making it through.

Sam had been fighting hard, hearing Cas make deep noises of effort behind him as the angel fought his own battle. They were back to back when they paused abruptly to see Jeff's head soar above them— _without a body._

"N _oo_ oo!" Maggie screamed. Sam could hear her lose control, yelling and attacking without focus.

"Help her!" Sam hollered to the other two, pushing back against Cas as Sam brought his arm in a downward slash cutting through the flesh in front of him. The thing reared back but Cas stumbled in reverse in that moment and Sam used the momentum to give that final blow through the neck, light erupting from the demon as it crashed to the floor.

Switching it up, Sam swiveled and brought the crude blade down over Cas' shoulder into the face of the thing Cas had been fighting bare-handed having lost his angel blade somewhere during the brawl.

Sound settled ominously as they took in their surroundings. Castiel stepped away to pluck out his blade from where it had managed to lodge itself into one of the rock walls. Maggie stood stiffly, breathing hard, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears and her features distorted into sordid hatred.

She pulled hard out of Jody's comforting grasp on her arm. "I'm fine," she snapped and walked past everyone to take lead, her dark hair dirtied with blood and soot. Sam had known that she and Jeff had hunted together for years and he'd always suspected they'd been more than friends whenever he and Dean had run into them from time to time. Even though they'd always denied it. Sam couldn't imagine what she must be going through, but the woman surged on ahead and he admired her courage—saddened, also, knowing that she would blame him for Jeff's death. Her loss for his gain, and it wasn't fair. Sam had a moment to wonder if it was worth it. Was one life really more than another?

Cas brushed past him, throwing him a heated look, "Don't think. Fight. That is all you must do."

Sam glanced back to find Cale and Jody sharing a pained look. Cale wasn't one for sporting such an expression—the guy could hold a smile even in the worst of fights—the most dire of times, he'd thought. Charging into Hell was going to give them all a very different perspective on what counted for worse, that was for damn sure.

Sam rubbed his jaw, spun on his heel, and kept going. The whole minute he'd stood motionless, gathering himself, Castiel had been fixated on him, wearing a dark, angry expression. Sam ignored it, his jaw clenching with the unsaid words, and he marched along.

As they continued to make their bloody way through Hell, he became increasingly worried as he watched Cas, his family in so many ways, slash and stab his way through demons—the blood soiling him in streaks of red and darker rusted brown. The closer they got, the worse it became.

After many hours, he realized, the angel was no longer killing to be rid of the threat—Cas was killing out of wrath and terror. It's a look Sam had seen on many other hunters before, and he realized that the poor guy was hanging onto sanity by a thread.

He would be remiss not to ask himself what would happen if they found Dean, and his brother was a lost cause _._ God only knew what Cas would do.

The next breath of peace they had, which was eerily increasing the closer they got, Sam clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

" _What?!_ " Cas snapped.

The fury and power forced him back a pace or two, instantly recoiling from the angel.

"We'll find him," Sam uttered reassuringly, holding the angel's blue icy stare.

"I know," Cas answered sharply, tearing his shoulder free of Sam's grip.

"Then what the hell is your problem?" he demanded, raising his voice. "You're starting to look no different than half the demons here! You need to lose the damn hate Cas, lose the anger. It won't help us here," Sam breathed the words low in a hiss, trying not to attract attention. Nevertheless, the rest of their group watched the argument unfold between them.

"You don't get it Sam! I can hear him! You don't—" Cas sucked in a breath, the pain that flashed in his eyes was deep. "It's…he's-he's not him, Sam. Not anymore." Cas met his eyes for a tenth of a second, and then his expression crumpled, focus drifting down to the ground.

The crude blade dropped from Sam's grasp. He wasn't aware of letting it go, but he heard it clatter to the ground. Jody came up behind him. Cale, too, was there beside him, concern etched deep into the tanned lines of his face. Sam stood, frozen, as he took in Cas' broken words.

"You don't know…" he argued pitifully, his voice lacking the strength to hold up the words. The angel lifted his eyes to Sam's—they showed nothing but defeat.

"Let's just…get this done," the angel spoke devoid of emotion, turning and stepping through a curved archway that held a winding, narrow set of stairs.

Sam followed, not bothering to pick up his knife but he heard the gentle scrape as someone snatched it from the stone floor.

It was a long, long way to the top. When he finally stepped up over the last riser, turning the corner into the room, he stopped in his tracks.

Castiel stood several feet in front of him, the only thing left upright in a large stone room, brown gunk in tapered streaks down the walls. Dead bodies of demons lay at the angel's feet. His back to Sam and his front faced the ominous double wood doors burdened with black iron fixtures in patterns across its surface.

With a quick gesture, the doors splintered into a million pieces rushing out into the air and landing everywhere in tiny heaps of wooden shards.

Sam heard a gasp behind him from the revealed sight. In fact, his own breath had a hard time working its way through his body.

Unaffected, or so it seemed, Castiel marched through the broken entrance into the room.

Sam followed cautiously, taking in everything at once.

There were no demons here except one. Leaning against the back wall, Dean stood, smiling with his arms crossed over his naked chest—the picture of ease. Blood-stained jeans hung from his hips, low enough to show that there was nothing underneath. Like his upper half, Dean's feet were also bare, and dirty.

There were several tables around the large square room. Each one had a bloody corpse splayed on it. Blood stained the floor, the walls… and, of course, Dean's hands.

The light was low, but seemed to cast his brother's form in a devilish highlight, seeping from below—shadowing his features in all the wrong ways. The sight of his brother this way turned his stomach, the man looked ugly.

"Dean," Cas said sharply. The familiar body before them reacted by standing straighter, its eyes flashing black.

"Dearest Castiel, you've finally arrived," Abaddon spoke with a tilt of her head, amused by their presence. "I'm thoroughly impressed."

Sam waited for it, knowing what Cas was about to do. There was a good chance this wouldn't even work, they'd never had a chance to test out the spell before raiding Hell.

Wisely, Castiel didn't respond, only took a couple steps closer to the Knight of Hell.

"Look at you, you little hellraiser. Care to go another round or two?"

The angel's shoulders seemed to broaden. "Abaddon, you and I both know that torture wasn't meant for me."

She preened. "True. Though I bet it would be now. Hmm? All I need is to let go of the reigns and he'd keep going, my little bird."

"You're wrong."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't you think I've tested my toys?"

Cas twitched at the insinuation. Even Sam had to wonder if she were telling the truth. My God, were they really too late?

"You can hear him can't you?" she snickered delightfully.

Cas must have cringed because Abaddon's face— _Dean's face_ —lit up and she leapt at the opening. "Oh, you have! Does it excite you? The rebellious angel that you are—I bet it does," she winked with Dean's eye, and that was when Cas made his move.

Disappearing from one spot and reappearing in another, Castiel closed the distance between them, coming nose-to-nose with Abaddon. In a swift motion, he slammed a palm against Dean's bared chest, where light surged out in a circular ray of white. The demon screamed and sagged when Cas drew his hand away.

Dean's body staggered, his hands shooting out to try and find something to hold onto as though he were no longer used to working his own limbs. Which was likely the case as Cas had just used his powers to burn an ancient Enochian mark into his brothers chest, something they'd only come across the night before. It held the Knight of Hell at bay, but it wouldn't hold for long.

"Get away from me!" Dean roared at them, his eyes dark.

"Dean!?" Sam mumbled, unable to help himself. The green eyes slowly shifted to him, Dean's head slanting to follow the path his eyes had taken, and then he grinned in a slow, crooked twist of lips.

"Sammy…" Dean sang, his eyes watching Sam with a perverted interest.

He couldn't help but flinch as the reality truly hit him. Cas had been right. _Oh God… no. Dean, c'mon, this isn't you._ Castiel wrenched back to castigate Sam with a vicious glare. _Let me handle this_ , Cas had told him before they'd left the bunker. _Say nothing to your brother_ , he'd made Sam promise. But seeing Dean this way was heartbreaking.

Castiel whipped around to face the back of the room, his fist regripping the blade in his left hand.

"Dean!" Cas snapped, garnering his brother's attention.

When Dean refocused, glancing down at Cas, he blinked back an emotion that happened so fast Sam didn't have time to recognize it. It was the next words that stunned them all.

"Kill me," his brother grated out in a tight-lipped voice. "Kill me now or I'll do worse. Kill me or I will kill you all—don't think I won't. Or, you know what, maybe I'll do worse? _Yeah_ … _mmm-mmm_ , you know I can do worse, my little bird," Dean sneered. The nickname for Cas was one Abaddon had used, and that Dean was following suit was...worrisome.

"If you want to die, I won't stop you—"

"Cas!" Sam took a step forward, 'cause there was no way he was agreeing to that BS!

"—but not here, not like this," Castiel went on. "You're not allowed to die in some crevice in Hell, give us that. Give us something better than that." The familiar, deep voice was cold and detached, but Sam had spent too much time around him lately, and he picked up on the subtle pain in the way the angel's words were tight and didn't flow quite right. And even without those cues, he saw the body a few feet in front of him sway, like the effort of staying together was draining him each second they stood before this corrupted, wrong version of a man they both cared for.

The loose semblance of Dean progressed forward until he was face to face with Cas.

"How are you even going to do that, angel? Drag along the demon with me? She's still in here, and boy is she pissed!" Dean laughed. Everything about him gave Sam the impulse to vomit up his organs.

"I can push her out," Cas told him, lifting his head to meet the green eyes boring down at him. They looked darker to Sam, maybe that was all in his head. But maybe it wasn't.

"May-be I don't want her to leave," Dean revealed, having raised a finger to tap Cas on the chin with each syllable.

"Please, Dean," Sam interrupted again, earning another black look from Castiel, but he couldn't stop now. "Dean, let us do this. Just say yes."

Evidently he'd gone and said the wrong thing, because Cas' heated stare maxed out when the words crossed his lips. At the same time, Dean's eyes narrowed at Sam with keen understanding.

If possible, Dean's expression grew harsher. "Just say yes?" he repeated, staring hard now into Castiel's eyes. "Just… _say…_ yes…" Dean shook his head, letting his smile fall, a sneer rose up to take its place.

Throwing his chest and arms out, Dean slammed forward: "GET OUT!" he bellowed, nearly head-butting Cas as the two came close to colliding.

"Goddammit, I'm not leaving here without you!" Castiel roared back. And for the first time, the angel showed his cards. The way his voice cracked, Sam knew—as did Dean now—that Cas would rot down here if he had to. Another spark of something flashed across his brother's hardened appearance. The cruel features turned lax, the outward hatred shifting back for a mere second.

"Kill me," Dean echoed, his words no longer holding that sharp cut of evil that they'd had before.

"Only if you let us bring you back," Castiel countered.

He hoped badly that Cas was playing some kind of game. Since that might very well be the case, Sam covered his own mouth to hold back any automatic protests on the discussion of Dean's death. He could feel the others behind him, anxious and waiting for something to happen.

"Promise me," Dean demanded through his teeth. "And I swear to you, if you don't own up to that promise—you will regret it." Dean threatened; his lip curling as he forced his energy down over the angel, crowding around him in a malevolent embrace.

"I promise," Cas said. Sam found himself shaking his head.

"No, no, no... Cas, wait. Don't," Sam pleaded.

Dean turned to him, just as slow as before. Only this time his features were solemn and wounded, but wholly fatalistic. "If you love me, you'll let me go," said Dean.

He hadn't come all this way just to see Dean die. Not again. Moving without thought, Sam began to race forward, but multiple hands grabbed him, arms circled his body, a barricade of people holding him at bay.

"No! Dean, Cas… _Please_!" he cried out but Dean ignored him and turned back to Castiel.

"Yes," Dean spoke clear and ready, knowing what would happen. The moment the word left his mouth, he flinched. Dean's body fought his verbal acceptance, the demon inside torquing and wrenching his limbs into awkward kinks. With narrowed eyes, Dean angled his head in warning.

"Do it _now!_ " Dean growled.

Abaddon was fighting back hard.

Obeying, Castiel opened his palm to reveal the crushed glass of a vial and searing light, the cloud of energy flew up into the air and plunged into Dean.

The light around his brother turned grey and hazy, a wailing could be heard that sounded muffled at first, growing louder and louder, piercing the air like a blade. Black smoke billowed into the room, followed by a chorus of screaming and yelling. The constant ' _no'_ on repeat was coming from his own set of pipes, he was sure of it. Someone screamed to get out of the way but Sam didn't move. He was body-checked onto the ground and couldn't find it in him to react—didn't care if the weight crushing him was friend or foe.

" _Now_!" someone shouted and a blast of heat lit up like fire against his skin and he scrambled away from it in a haze of confusion, shoving off the heavy weight from his back.

Crumbles of stone landed in his hair, on his shoulders, his arms. He blinked his eyes open, dust in a cloud everywhere. Someone broke out into a coughing fit.

As the grey haze began to clear, Sam could feel pain across his back from getting hit or hitting something. Amidst the rocky cloud, Crowley appeared—his suit ripped to shreds, blood oozing quick from a cut on the side of his face.

When he locked eyes with Sam, he shouted, "Leave now!" But the words were mostly drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

More dust settled, and through it he saw Castiel holding his older brother in his arms, standing tall despite the tormented set of his features. His face appeared more broken than Sam had ever seen it, even though there was not one scratch marring the skin.

Dean's body was bonelessly draped across Cas' outstretched arms. Unconscious or dead, Sam didn't want to know. Nothing was going the way he'd expected it. Jody rushed up to his side, Cale and Maggie in her wake. She was tugging his sleeves, the front of his shirt. Crowley was hollering at them to get the bloody hell out. The guy kept disappearing and reappearing and Sam wasn't sure if his eyes were failing him or the King of Hell was really coming and going.

Then they were running, his legs moving on reflex now. His brain mostly shut down and only following basic orders. _Move forward. Run. Breathe in. Breathe out. And repeat._

They crossed paths with some of Abaddon's crew and Crowley appeared in front of them and fought. Maggie and Cale sprinted ahead and killed alongside the King. Jody hung back with Sam. Cas and Dean behind them, stuck useless until they were all out.

When the threat lay in patches of death on the stone floor, Crowley rounded back to face them.

"Castiel, can you take some of them?" his accented voice was rushed and urgent.

"Yes." Sam heard the single word and a hand landed hard on his shoulder. Jody held on tighter, her smaller hand gripping his forearm, and then they were gone.

The air was what he noticed first. Crisp and breathable, Sam sucked in a breath like he was near dying. He squinted into the fading daylight and took note of the field in front of him. Turning around, he cast his eyes on the bunker just down the slope. It sat there obstinate and unchanging, which seemed bizarre to Sam. He felt different standing there looking it.

Things had changed.

Cas stood at the edge of the swell of land, holding his brother's slack body. Shifting his eyes from right to left, Sam took in the depressing picture of it all. Of the bunker's outer walls, all high and blank, of Cas there bloodied and stiff, and in contrast to all the hard lines was his oldest family member—no, scratch that—his _only_ family member, limp and hanging over two arms.

 

  
  


In a daze, Sam got stuck looking at Dean's bare feet. The bottoms were black with soot and dried blood. Two toenails had been pulled off.

Air rushed around them, breaking his trance, and Sam twisted back from his hips to see Crowley looking worse for wear and the rest of their crew—minus Jeff.

"We need to move quickly now." Crowley said, shooting a significant look his way. Oh yes, the second part of the plan. He'd almost forgotten.

Sam faced Cale, "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked one last time.

"I've been ready to give those demons the biggest 'Fuck You' ever since Hannah, I don't regret nothin'" Cale said, his smile returning. Sam had never met anyone more cowboy than this man.

Sam nodded. "Alright then." Sharing a look with Crowley, he asked, "And you?"

Before their talk, Sam never would have thought he'd feel concern for the King of Hell, but he did now. And he would after— _especially after._

"I'll, uh, see you boys soon," Crowley said with a worried smile, his eyes glazed. Sam forced a smile, but it didn't feel right.

Nothing felt right.

The two disappeared and Sam turned back and walked towards the bunker door, left ajar after Cas had gone inside.

Jody and Maggie, along with the others trailed behind him. Everyone except for Jody went to their cars and left. He didn't say anything to any of them. What was there to say?

Sam's feet carried him through the halls, he felt taller or the bunker felt smaller. When he reached Dean's door, it was open. He took the last step and turned to face into the room.

Cas hovered near the edge of the bed, his shoulders hanging low. Dean's body had been placed on top of the comforter. Sam's first though was that he looked uncomfortable, all flattened down; arms straight, legs straight, face-up.

"Is he…?" Sam snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't go through Dean's death another time. There was only so much he could take. This was enough. _God, please, don't—_

"No," Cas muttered softly, not moving his eyes away from their post.

"Will he wake up?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to kill him?"

Cas shuddered. " _No_."

"Will we get him back?" Sam asked the giant question—the one he was just as terrified to ask as the one about whether Dean was dead or not. In some ways, this was worse.

Cas chewed the inside of his lip, his features pinched, blue eyes glassy. He shrugged but the look on his face said it all. Cas couldn't even say it. The angel looked about ready to break in half. Sam felt a hand in his own, tugging gently, and he turned his head and peered down at the brown eyes that softly watched him.

"C'mon, Sam," Jody said, pulling him in the direction of his room. He followed her without question, leaving his brother and the angel behind. There wasn't much of them left to leave behind anyway.

Ghosts, Sam thought as he was pulled into his room, they were all ghosts now.

 


	12. Faith in Thy Brother

It had been four days since their less-than-heroic return from Hell. Cas hadn't left Dean's room the entire time. Unlike the angel, Sam hadn't bothered visiting Dean's bedside since that first night. Jody had gone in a few times, tried to encourage Sam to do the same, but he couldn't face his brother the way he was, prone and fatally still. Seeing it once had been enough. He didn't even know what Dean was anymore, and that terrified him.

When— _If_ Dean woke up, Sam would find it in himself to be there for his brother but until then he would immerse himself into books, doing whatever research was needed to help Cale and Crowley.

The cowboy hunter and the King of Hell were doing the very thing Sam had failed at. Failed, because Dean had begged him to let go, " _Just let it go, Sammy."_ Instead of dying as he should have, he'd gotten possessed by Heaven's most wanted next to Satan himself. It was shit like this that made Sam reconsider how much of a freak he must be.

To be Lucifer's vessel, to be possessed by him was bad enough. But then to discover years later that he would wind up getting possessed, _again,_ by the deceit of his own brother no less, letting the second member from God's hit-list into his skin was a lot to handle—even for him. He wasn't mad at Dean anymore, he was past it. But that didn't mean the whole experience hadn't changed something fundamental about who he was. The only question that remained, like a nagging headache at the back of his skull, was who was he now? One day the answer might come to him, but for now he would do what he and Dean always did: Go through the motions. When shit gets bad, really bad, just keep moving forward—because what the hell else are you going to do?

"You find anything?" He looked up from the text in front of him and glanced over at Jody on the other side of the wood table. She shook her head distantly, still immersed in the entry she was reading. She reached out a small hand and blindly searched for her coffee. He watched her bring it to her lips only to flinch away from the chill. That cup of coffee had been sitting there for nearly three hours.

Sam chuckled and reached over the table to take it from her hand. Her eyes flicked up appreciatively.

"I'll make more," he offered.

"Thank you," she breathed, obviously desperate for more caffeine. "My eyes are burning." She rubbed roughly at them with her fist. It was cute but he knew she'd slap him if he'd said as much. Despite the reality that was his life, Jody Mills softened everything. Her bluntness and her rough and tough ' _Go Get'em'_ attitude seemed to airbrush his entire world.

Sam thought he might love her for it.

They never mentioned how things had changed; there was no need. Since their return, she slept in his bed every night. It wasn't just for the sex or even the joy of her company; it was something fundamental about them together. It was relaxing in a way Sam hardly remembers the feeling of. The down side was that the comfort he'd found with this woman occasionally sparked memories long forgotten: Jody pushing his hair off of his face morphed into Jess doing the same a thousand times and more. Jody noticed the flash of pain in his eyes, he was sure of it. Instead of reacting the way some women might, Jody would kiss him, a soft pull back to the real world. Old memories would then fall away back into the recesses of his memory bank.

Standing in the kitchen, Sam watched the deep brown liquid trickle into the coffee pot, tapping his fingers on the counter impatiently. He was eager to continue the research, he'd let his mind distract him long enough and they really needed to find something Cale could use.

Jody had helped him dig up a bunch of old Men of Letters files and they were scouring through entry after entry that might hint at a crossroads deal. They interspersed the hard copy research with good old fashioned googling and online newspaper queries. They'd so far found three they'd known for sure were crossroads deals but those who'd taken the deals had already been evil bastards and there was no way to be sure that they would be considered innocent souls that needed to be sent upstairs.

The solid stream of coffee ebbed and dripped, the pot coughed up some steam before it signaled it was done. He poured each of them two full hot cups and walked back to the library. The way back took him by the hallway of bedrooms. Notably…Deans.

Finding his steps stopping altogether, he listened by the bedroom door, trying to see if he could hear anything. Not even a single peep or creak from inside reached his ears, so he kept walking, unaware of the grimace that had settled into his expression.

Sam handed Jody the steaming red cup before sitting down with his own. He pushed the book he'd been reading to the middle of the table and pulled the laptop towards himself.

"Switching it up?" Jody noted as she sipped her coffee.

"Yeah, I don't think we'll find anything here," he said gesturing to the mounds of Men of Letters papers.

"It's too bad Crowley can't go and get one for us." Jody smiled, her finger touching along the curved mug handle. Sam huffed his agreement.

That was the only kink in the plan. The King of Hell's permission made a lot of things easier but finding a damned innocent soul should have been one of the perks but since Crowley couldn't go back to Hell without facing Abaddon's wrath, not to mention the turmoil that had become the underworld in his absence, they had to do this the long way around. He and Dean had done it before so it shouldn't be so hard.

Sam fell back into research mode and spent a good long while pouring through article after article about strange incidents, deaths, miracles of good fortune. He tried to sort out the run-of-the-mills from the maybes but the hours passed before he felt he really had anything to go on.

...

" _Kill me!"_ Dean screamed at him in the dream.

Blood ran down the walls. Bodies were flayed and whimpering around them. Sam kept trying to run towards his brother, getting thrown to the ground each time by an invisible force.

" _I'll do it myself!"_ Dean's voice thundered inside the stone, wet, wine-coloured walls. Light cascaded across the room in bursts and streaks like lightning. The fire and heat of it singed the hairs on his forearms as he struggled to reach out.

" _Don't!"_ he cried in a hoarse voice, tears streaming down his face.

His brother raised a knife engraved with the same markings that defined Ruby's blade. Sam shouted through the noise. A grating, metal-on-rock sound echoed inside his ears. Dean's form blurred in his vision, the muscular frame grew and shrank as if it were a heartbeat throbbing inside the stone chamber.

The smell of sulfur, smoky and thick in his mouth stifled his pleas as he begged for it to stop. Dean smiled, looking down at him, his eyes turned soulless black. Sam tried in vain to reach him, to stop him.

" _NO, stop! Please stop! I can save you! I can save you!"_ Each word burned as it tore through his raw throat. Dean mouthed something at him, the world too loud for his words to carry. In a slow, guided movement, Dean began to sink the blade into his flesh, the metal glinting in a ray of light, disappearing into his abdomen. Blood welled and ran down to his low-hung jeans, staining the fabric.

Sam's soul began to splinter.

Dean's face lit up red and yellow like a fire burned within, Sam screamed as hard as he could, losing breath. A stranger was grabbing at him and he fought against the iron-like grip. Swearing and cursing, ripping his arms free —

…

Sam crashed into consciousness with a startling jolt, as if he'd hit concrete from two storeys high. He jerked up from the table to find Castiel's hand on his shoulder holding him as still as he could.

"Sam?" Castiel worried over him, trying to turn Sam around to face him. Sam's long legs felt wobbly where he stood. Slowly, he spun around and tried to calm his lungs. The overwhelming sensations of the dream left him fairly unhinged.

"Is Dean okay?" Sam choked out, feeling the sweat soaked through his undershirt. The nightmare lingered, and he swore he could still smell the bitter scent of Hell and the metallic alkaline odor of blood.

"He's…he has not woken up yet," Cas told him gingerly. Sam calmed enough to take in the full picture in front of him. The angel looked completely haggard, his clothes sagging over him; more draped than worn. The bags heavy and dark under his eyes, his lips were chapped worse than Sam had ever seen and his hair was so disheveled that he would have laughed under normal circumstances, but the terror and grief still swimming in his veins sobered him of any mildly joyful reaction.

"It's been days." Sam rubbed his hands together, the joints aching from being held in tight fists for however long he'd been out of it. Jody must have gone to bed or gone out to get groceries or something. He was glad she hadn't witnessed him like this. Not that it would have surprised her. Frankly, he was surprised this was the first nightmare he'd had. Though he'd been numb for a while, moving fluidly through the bunker like a ghost the last few days. Maybe he was finally waking up.

Couldn't say the same for Dean.

"How is he even alive? It's been four days. Doesn't he need like water and food and stuff?" Sam knew logic and real-world rules probably didn't apply in this case, but he had to ask.

"I'm keeping him alive," Castiel answered tiredly.

"Why bother?" Sam asked with dejected rhetoric.

Castiel's eyes flashed with sudden life, heating up the two feet that separated them. "I can tolerate his demented personality when it arises, but I _will not_ tolerate your insolent indifference!"

"We don't even know what we brought back!" Sam hissed, not sure why he was lowering his voice at all. Dimly, he wondered if in his supernatural repose, Dean could hear them.

"Whatever he has become is not fixed or absolute, it can be changed," Castiel argued, his voice rising.

"Have you even tested him?" he asked.

"He came through the door, didn't he?"

"Being carried by you," he shot back. The fact that the argument was baseless didn't matter.

"Tell me Sam, when exactly did you stop loving your brother?" Castiel's words sent him reeling backwards.

"How fucking dare you assume I don't love my brother?!" he yelled. "It's _because_ I love him that I question what he is now. He wouldn't want to be this—whatever _this_ is! You know that!" Sam had zero doubts on this. He'd known Dean his whole life. As terrifying as the nightmare had been, he knew what Dean would want. Maybe that had been the whole point of the nightmare; it was Dean telling him to let him go.

"Don't presume that I will forsake him simply because you have."

"Why do you think he's not waking up, Cas?! It's because he doesn't want to!" Sam argued, gesturing his arm violently in the direction of Dean's room.

The door opening up the stairs cut off their impending words. Jody peered down suspiciously at their heated stances and threatening glares.

"Hey boys, everything okay?" she asked, knowing of course, that everything was not.

"Yes. It's fine," said Castiel, his tone curt. Turning on a dime, the angel strode off back towards Dean's room.

Sam looked up to see Jody coming down the metal stairs with two grocery bags, one in each hand. He was still fuming as she set the bags down on the table.

Jody planted a palm on his chest and pegged him with one of her formidable looks. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Besides the obvious."

"Cas can't see straight right now. He's _convinced_ Dean can be fixed. But I saw the look in his eyes, Jody, I saw the determination there. Dean won't survive this. He doesn't want to. Because I think he knew…he knew he wasn't right anymore. My brother held on long enough to ask to be let go… Trust me, I know what that means." Sam told her, the pain in his ribs lancing up his throat as it followed his words, coating them in pain.

Jody's hand reached up to trace the angle of his jaw, curving against his cheek until she stroked comforting patterns under his eyes and over his forehead. The slow touch massaged away the tension, and lessened the hurt. Lifting his arms, Sam cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her.

Her mouth opened for him and he slipped his tongue into it, tasting the warmth of her. She fell into his chest and her hands slipped under his shirt, moving over his skin. The outside chill on her fingers caused him to jerk away reflexively.

"Sorry," she breathed between kisses, smiling.

"How do you do this to me?" he asked, holding her face in front of him. Examining the planes of her features, Sam tried to read her soul, tried to see what she was made of that held the power to make him solid and whole when he felt like he was falling apart.

"I usually threaten you with violence," she teased, pinching his nipple.

"Hey!" he squawked, trying to move away playfully. Together, they bumped against the painted beige cinder block wall, the staircase rose beside them, and the mezzanine entrance over their heads shadowed the moment.

Suddenly serious, he fixated on her face. "I mean it," he echoed his thoughts. "This is as bad as things can get and, don't get me wrong, I feel destroyed more often than not but when you look at me or touch me, or even when I can smell you next to me in the middle of night—it all seems easier; like it's not so bad after all." Throughout his explanation, Sam realized halfway there that this was bordering on a proclamation of love and he should probably shelve that for a little longer but he was never one for concealing his feelings the way Dean always had.

Jody softened with understanding. "Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?" Angling closer against the line of his body, she threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down for a kiss, pausing as their breath mixed together.

"It feels right," she whispered. "I never expected my life to turn out this way, but I don't regret it, Sam." Jody threaded her fingers through his shoulder length hair.

"I can't give you a real relationship," he warned.

"I want you, Sam Winchester. And I'm not going anywhere. I mean, c'mon, I went to Hell for your brother!" she joked.

Surprisingly, Sam actually laughed. Sucking back a lungful, he pressed a searing kiss against her lips, hard and full of promise. Or at the very least: Full-bodied intent.

"Mind doing some more research with me before we go to bed?" asked Sam.

"Only if you promise that we won't be going to sleep right away? I mean, I should at least get to reap the benefits for my assistance, shouldn't I?" She grinned and slapped his ass as she walked back over to the table.

"It's a date," he agreed, grinning widely at her. The familiar stretch on his face felt good. Despite the argument with Cas, he felt lighter as he opened the computer and scrolled through tedious clips of news.

And when they finally went to bed? It wasn't for sleep.

/\/\/\

The next morning research efforts resumed. A couple hours of silent reading save for the sipping of hot coffee was interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey man, how's the research going?" asked Cale.

"Uh…it's going. I don't have anything for you yet unfortunately. Where are you at?" Sam asked. Jody had discarded her reading in favour of listening to the conversation. Sam turned on the speaker and placed the phone on the table. Cale's drawl filtered out into the musty room.

"It just so happens I'm standin' outside your door, friend," Cale said cheerfully.

" _Let us in, Moose!"_ Crowley called into the line. Seconds later, a distinct smack followed and Cale's low voice mumbled something at the King. Sam smirked at Jody.

"Alright, take it easy. We're coming up." Ending the call, he slipped the phone into his jean's pocket and followed Jody up the stairs.

The day was bright with early morning light. A soft blaze of yellow making the whole world seem a bit slower than normal. Cale's tanned skin soaked up all that light, Crowley looking pasty and blotched beside him. Jody and Sam hiked up the small hill to greet the two.

"Aww…love is in the air." Crowley crooned, his brown eyes dancing between Sam and Jody. Feeling his mouth form a flat line, he didn't bother giving that the justification of a response.

Instead, he turned to Cale. "So, how are you doing?" The sadness crept into his words making it sound like a question for a dying man. He supposed it was.

"You know me, man. Guns'a'blazin'! They got it coming to 'em, and I am damn ready to dish out retribution." Cale smacked a rough hand against Sam's arm.

He smiled back at the fellow hunter. "You're doing an amazing thing, saying thank you isn't enough, ya know?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, "Blah, blah…can we get on to specifics, ladies?"

"Relax sulphur-dick. Damn, he's a whiny one, this guy!" Cale said, poking a thumb towards Crowley. "So we cut ourselves up some hell dog last night. I had to take about ten damn showers just to get that black gunk off me." Cale shivered with remembered disgust and Sam could definitely relate—having done the same.

"Alright, so you're waiting on us finding something then?" Sam asked the obvious.

"That's where we're at. Pressure's on, big guy."

"Okay, well, we'll find someone soon. But I have to ask, how are you gonna get the soul? It's chaos down there! Crowley's no use—"

" _Hey_! I resent that," Crowley chimed in.

"Whatever, what's your plan?" continued Sam.

"Crowley's got a reaper that's gonna lead me in the same way as you'd gone before—back door special."

Sam glanced skeptically at the King. "You killed the last reaper we used, and now you have one conveniently in your back pocket?"

"Always have a reaper in your pocket, mate," he told Sam plainly.

"Might sound stupid, but I don't want you to get hurt," Sam said to Cale. Vengeful paths were not always the smartest road taken. He knew that from experience.

"Kind of a redundant statement, friend." Cale levelled him with a sobering raised set of brows.

"Yeah," Sam reluctantly agreed. Still, he hated that someone else was doing this. It should've been him.

"Hey man, it's what I want. You got family, Sam. I got nothin' here no more. Suck up those feelings like a man and go do some research, yeah?" Cale punched him lightly on the shoulder and Sam forced a smile. Cale's toffee-coloured eyes still held the excitement that Sam had felt in his early years of hunting—when the bravado and Rambo undertone was still a heavy current in the turmoil of his life. That was long gone.

"We're on it," he promised, grabbing Jody's hand and slipping his fingers between hers.

"There's only one minor, _baby_ hiccup," Crowley intervened.

"The fact that Heaven is closed?" said Sam. Crowley tipped his chin down.

"Well, I spoke to Cas about that before…before everything, when Cale first came to me about the trials, and he said that with Metatron taken care of—"

"Oohh! Who skewered the short little scribe?" asked Crowley, his expression lit-up with joy.

"Uh, well, apparently... _God."_ The words were hard to believe even though they were his. Sam didn't doubt Castiel, but they had no evidence that Metatron was truly dead. Ironically, he had to take it on faith. Truth be told, his supply there was running close to empty.

"So, anyway, he said that God would deal with Metatron and ensure that the trials would be successful. Only that he can't fix Heaven so that's on us. I tried to ask Cas more about it but he wouldn't say much," Sam explained.

"So I guess we're a go then." Cale looked to Crowley, "You're tagging along with me and we're gonna do our own research on this soul business." The King pouted like a child and Sam tried not to think of having to deal with him after this mess was done.

The two took off not long after. Cale had asked about Dean, and Sam had to shake his head when words had failed him. Jody ended up being the one to tell them that his brother hadn't woken up yet.

When they found themselves back in the library, a laptop each in front of them, Sam closed the lid in frustration after only scrolling through one page of results.

"It should have been me," he said. "Kevin would still be here if I had finished it. Every single person killed or possessed by demons since that night is on me. And now…this young guy is doing my job." Sam was overwhelmed with guilt, and regret. There was no going back now, he knew that. It didn't stop the chalky feeling that made his throat dry.

"If it was supposed to have been you, it would have been—but it wasn't and so it isn't." Jody's words were philosophical and maybe he would have believed them ten years ago if they'd been spoken in a lecture hall, but now…he wasn't sure. He'd seen fate. She had long blonde hair and wore cardigans with pencil skirts. Was she the reason he had stalled in the church? Was she the force that had Dean arriving just in time to stay his hand? He'd like to believe it, but there had been no string of gold glinting from the ground when they'd stumbled out of the hobbled church structure as they angels blazed through the sky above them.

In the maelstrom of the current world, it was very likely that the three sisters of fate had perished in the fall. Sam only had himself to blame for his decisions.

"What about me?" Jody leaned back in her chair, her amused gaze settling on him.

Sam focused on her deep brown eyes, the creases in the corners from the years spent smiling and laughing with a family that was now dead. His mind recalled the feel of her skin under his fingers, the extra soft, hardly noticeable scar on her lower abdomen from the C-section she'd had nearly eight years ago now.

"You're the reason I'm not telling Cale to park his ass here so that I can take over." Sam realized in saying the words how true they were. It wasn't for Dean that he stayed, though that was part of it. But it was more for her. They'd found something together here and having always been secretly optimistic, he wanted that. Wanting it didn't stop the feeling of guilt that washed over him.

"Sam, it's okay to have something for you," she said.

"You're probably biased." He smiled over at her, wanting the seriousness of the discussion to be over. As his future plans at the moment were to keep his butt parked in this chair, there was no use in stewing over his guilt anymore.

"Maybe a little." Wearing a sly smile, she lightly kicked his shin under the table. Jody's attention then slid back to the computer in front of her and Sam lingered on her concentrated features a moment before he, too, went back to the research.

/\/\/\

Two hours later and they finally made a discovery. Sam nearly leapt out of his chair in exultation. His body was sore from sitting for the last five days, and he knew this was the next step to ending it.

"Adelyn Hoffer," Sam stated. Jody moved to hover over his right shoulder. "Get this: she was sixteen when her abusive father was inexplicably murdered, cops had no leads at the time. It says here the death was _suspicious_ but they don't give any specifics. And ten years later, the girl is found dead in her apartment torn to shreds." Sam concluded, slamming his hand down on the table and reaching for his phone with the other.

Cale answered on the first ring, "You got somethin' for us?"

"Adelyn Hoffer was twenty-six when the Hell-hounds got to her. Sold her soul to be rid of an abusive father."

Cale hissed against the receiver. "Good deal, I guess, 'cept for the reaping of the soul bit."

"No shit." Firing off a picture of the girl, Sam wished him luck and said to call the second it was done.

Jody scratched along the back of his head with her short nails and she placed her free hand on his shoulder.

"One day soon it will be over. I know it," she declared. The encouraging sentiment had Sam reaching up to hold her smaller hand in his bigger one.

"I hope you're right." He leaned his head back against the cushion of her chest. Curving her body, Jody bent over to kiss the crown of his head.

"I'm always ri—"

_Pop!_

The sharp crack of a gun going off had Sam bolting out of his seat in a race towards Dean's room, Jody firm on his heels. Sam's ears were ringing and his hands were trembling as he threw the door open. It slammed against the wall behind with a smash. The first thing that registered was Castiel kneeling on the floor with his hands palm out in front of him covered in blood, his head bowed over as he stared down.

Snapping his focus over to the bed, Sam saw his brother lying still over the covers, blood soiled over the white pillow case in a distinct spray pattern. He strained his eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to understand what had happened. There was a gun not two inches from Dean's fingers where his hand lay open on the bed.

"Cas?!" Sam choked out around the lump in his throat. Castiel turned his face at an angle to Sam.

"It's okay," he said shakily. "It's okay. I fixed it." He moved to wipe his hands over his black dress pants when Jody rushed passed Sam and dropped to the floor, grabbing Castiel's wrists.

"Hey," she said with a comforting tone. "Let's get you washed up?" She held on to Cas' forearms and eased up off the ground, pulling him with her.

"What happened?" Sam refused to let him pass through the door before he'd answered. Not that it really mattered, he already knew. He just needed Cas to say it.

"He-he woke up. I thought maybe it was okay. He seemed fine. Calm, eve-even. I don't know where the gun came from. The trigger went off before I could stop him. I healed him but my hands were shaking, Sam. I-I put him back to sleep. He's sleeping."

The two stared at each other. Sam wanted to be angry at Castiel. It was the same damn situation all over again except backwards. Instead of Sam being kept alive, against his will, by an angel, now Dean was being kept alive, against his will, _also_ by an angel.

"I can't lose him twice." Castiel was on the verge of breaking apart. Sam could see him teetering fast towards that precipice. It was the only thing that stopped the harsh words that had been making their way up his windpipe.

Stepping aside, Sam let them pass. Jody squeezed his arm before corralling Cas towards the bathroom.

Sam was left alone in the threshold of the room staring over at his brother's form, portentous with his slack features next to the striking bright red over the white pillow. Sam felt himself walking forward; he numbly grabbed the gun and pressed the lever to release the slide, pulling it off completely. He emptied the gun and pocketed the remaining bullets. He methodically moved around the room searching every potential location for weapons. It occurred to him how fucked up this was.

Dean had an array of weapons and once he'd collected them all he threw them in a bag and dropped them by the door with a loud thunk.

Moving back towards the bed, he fixed his eyes on the back wall and lifted Dean's head to remove the pillow underneath. He pretended not to feel the sticky feel of blood on his fingers that was now caked into Dean's hair.

He tossed the pillow out into the hallway and went over to the closet to grab another. Standing over the bed was where he lost himself for a moment. Studying Dean's still face filled him with a disagreeable mixture of regret and pity. He gingerly lifted Dean's head and placed the pillow underneath, squidging his fingers through Dean's short hair to try and wipe away the blood. He smeared it on his jeans without care, they were far from the first pair that had been ruined by blood. And certainly wouldn't be the last.

Sam stared down at his brother's face and wished he could apologize. Wish he'd gone after Dean when he'd left that night on the bridge. If Sam hadn't been immersed with his own anger, he might have seen the destructive force building within his brother and how all of it would lead to his death, his being possessed…to _this_.

"Sam?" Castiel called his name. The angel sounded himself again. Sam turned to find the guy clean and presentable—maybe even more so than he'd been in days.

Sam cleared his throat of the emotion that sat there. "I got him a new a pillow."

Castiel nodded. Jody was no longer with him.

"I'm sorry you feel that he's lost," Castiel said as he walked over to sit in front of Sam at the end of the bed.

"Shit, Cas, I feel like he has stage four cancer…on the brink of death and we're just keeping him alive, making him suffer, I-I can't stand it." His earlier anger had dissolved leaving only sorrow. He felt empathy for Cas, for himself, and most of all, for Dean.

"Please have faith. I know what I'm doing." Castiel spoke towards the bed and Sam thought he might be speaking to Dean more than him.

"I'm glad one of us does."

Dean hadn't flinched or moved a muscle the entire time.

"Sam," Cas turned towards him, the angel's hand moving to hold Dean's socked foot where it lay beside his hip. "I'm happy that you've found someone." The angel's smile was wistful.

"If it's worth anything, he loved you," he said in return, noticing Castiel flinch from his use of the past tense.

"I know." Cas didn't look back; his hand squeezing Dean's foot, staring down at the connection as if it would help.

 


	13. Awakening

_"So what if you can see the darkest side of me?_

_No one will ever change this animal I have become_

_Help me believe it's not the real me_

_Somebody help me tame this animal."_

* * *

Castiel leaned forward in the plush chair and pressed his palms together. The iconic position did nothing to ease the pain. But he hoped his prayer might.

_Dear Father, if you're up there, if you're watching this—I have questions. I-I need answers. Firstly, did you know? When you sent me back…did you know it was to this that I would be returning? Certainly you've heard my previous prayers, my growing…desperation. Well, now, I'm begging, Father. I need your help. You said you made me special, that—_

Pained by the direction of his words, Castiel dropped the trail of his thought and began anew.

 _How am I to fix Heaven now, I ask you? You said, even, that I could fix it all…_ _But this? Look at him…_ Castiel thought in the direction towards Dean. _This is beyond me. The soul I once knew…it's-it's nearly unrecognizable to even my sensitive eyes._

_Where are you now? Why yank me into Heaven and then leave me without aide?_

_What kind of a Father are you?_

In the silence that followed, Castiel turned up to the ceiling in an attempt to see beyond. Nothing came down from above. No revelations.

In a fleeting notion, Castiel wondered if the silence would ultimately kill him.

…

Sunk into the old tattered chair, Castiel winced as his stomach gurgled into painful knots, rolling with his emotions. He curled forward to stifle the bodily reactions to stress. He had his grace, not to mention the spare in his pocket that he'd taken back from Dean after Abaddon had been cast out, but he would use neither to lessen the discomfort.

He'd been in this room nearly every minute since they'd been back—sometimes folding himself into the chair he was currently in or sometimes sitting on the bed by Dean's side. As an angel, he could not explain Dean's apparent coma. He suspected, like Sam, that it was somehow intentional, but he was no doctor.

Dean lay before him, so unpromisingly still. Castiel watched the even breaths of his chest—automatic and less lifelike than the action defined.

It had been hours, but his hands still shook from the feeling of Dean's blood, slippery and wet over his fingers. He could still smell the tang of gunpowder as Dean had fired lead straight into his skull.

Another wave of agony tore its way through his abdomen and while he could probably remedy the feeling at his will…he couldn't bear to be rid of the pain that linked him to Dean's life. It didn't make much sense, he knew that. Yet somehow, feeling physically perfect was so entirely at odds with his emotional state that it was unfathomable to consider a change.

So he endured, curved in on himself, lost to his own sensations. Castiel thought back to the sound of Dean's voice in his head as he'd progressed through Hell. It was roughened nearly beyond recognition, the tone darker and sinful—even more so than he'd remembered from when he'd first found Dean in Hell so many years ago.

Sam had seen it written across his face—the knowledge that Dean could very well be lost. At the time Castiel had indeed feared the worst, but there had been a moment, a single breath of time up in that stone prison where Dean had looked at him and Sam, and Castiel knew that all was not damaged. There was something left. And he would pry and dig at every part of Dean until he found a way to piece the man soul's back together. He refused to give up. Dean would not die twice on his watch. Not after everything. Not after having been inside Dean's mind. He knew the darkness that had existed there before and of course it was more than your average human but there was so much light in him, such greatness and love. Castiel had to believe, that if he persisted, he could fix Dean.

For him, there was no other option.

Sadly, his hope didn't carry over to the younger Winchester. Sam had broken on their return—a painfully obvious retreat into giving up. Seeing Dean sneer the way he had, the twist in his voice, and surely the sound of the gun going off had all added up to Sam's inability to maintain the faith he once had.

A rumple of fabric, soft and light, dribbled into his senses and Castiel glanced up from his sitting fetal position to set his eyes on the bed.

Dean's hand had moved. Having previously rested on the bed, it now lay across his stomach. Castiel stared, engrossed, waiting for more. Sam had removed all weapons, so Dean's awakening should hopefully be less horrific than the first time.

That being said, Castiel had considered securing him just in case but in the end could not bear the idea of tying him down.

_A pinkie!_

A pinkie finger had most definitely twitched. Castiel leapt from his chair and sat in his worn groove on the side of the bed. He placed his own hand over Dean's. The man's pulse had quickened. It had been steady and slow for several days, but now it was unquestionably faster. He focused on the rhythm of blood under his two fingers curled around Dean's wrist.

His blue eyes travelled over the curves of Dean's face—looking for clues of consciousness.

"Dean?" he whispered; his voice raspy from disuse.

Wind and pressure instantly surrounded him—the earth seeming to lurch away. Disoriented, Castiel realized he'd been shoved roughly off the bed by Dean's hand secured forcefully around his throat, the wind rushing past his body as he landed hard, crunching against the solid wall behind him. A whump of air flew from his mouth due to the impact and when he regained his bearings he was face to face with the formerly unconscious soul.

The green eyes he had been waiting to see were now boring into his. They were not kind, nor were they all that familiar from the fury that Castiel saw in them. Dean's hair was matted, dark, and crusty from the side where blood had dried in it. His features appeared sharper than they've ever been. But it was his soul… _Dear Father_ , his soul was the most mangled of all. With Dean's eyes bared to him, he could see it all—not a glimpse but the true depth of its damage.

The open palm pushing against his windpipe was uncomfortable but not too impeding and so Castiel spoke, fearing a response.

"You're awake," he observed.

Dean jerked at their connection, his fingers digging in against tendons and rebounded, slamming Cas' head in a crack against the cinder block wall. The motion was more jarring than painful.

"I warned you not to let me live," Dean snarled an inch from his face, his lip curling into a feral scowl, unlike anything he'd ever seen on this man without the presence of a demonic force.

"You were not in a state to make decisions on your own behalf," Castiel countered. He had to stay strong despite the shaking of his vessel. His entire body was nearly pulsating from an intensity he wasn't sure was atmospheric or tangible.

Dean laughed. It was a chilling sound that rippled right down his spine.

"You just wait and see what you brought back." Dean stared down into his eyes before slamming his head against the wall three times in succession.

Castiel's grace rendered the violence ineffective and he could feel that this seemed to piss Dean off. What did I bring back, he wondered. The man in front of him was no demon, Castiel would have been able to sense it, but Dean was not… _Dean_.

Not truly.

"I brought back a man worth being saved," he replied instead, pushing Dean back, his superior strength breaking the link between his throat and Dean's grasp.

"A man?" Dean laughed for a quick second before throwing a hard fist forward with surprising speed, hitting Cas squarely on the jaw. His head snapped to the side, but he didn't allow it to affect him more than that.

"I may have a dick but I'm most definitely not a man," Dean added, his lip twisting at the corner. The words were harsh but the expression was unmistakable—one of the many stashed faces of Dean Winchester—this one more often used than all the rest: _The expression of self-hatred_. In that moment, Castiel's hope flared, despite the misshapen soul he saw.

"You are not lost Dean." Castiel grabbed his shoulders, using inhuman strength to keep him still. "You are there somewhere and I will find you. I always find you…"

Castiel, wisely, didn't move closer but observed from a foot and a half of distance as Dean absorbed his words. His features did not alter from the statement, but his soul flickered and that was enough.

Pegging Dean hard in the eyes, he said, "I am stronger than you and I will force you in the right direction if I have to spend every moment doing so. Kill yourself; I will simply bring you back. Try and do something to test my resolve and I will show you my dedication. Tell me you hate me, tell me you'll kill Sam—I don't care what you say or do, Dean. _You. Are. Not. Done. Here_." The words were thick and commanding as he unleashed his efforts at supremacy over Dean. The power he displayed was nothing more than a façade for his desperation, but Dean didn't need to know that.

Dean grinned a full, teeth-bared smile.

"Force me to become what you want, huh? You dirty, dirty little angel. Taking lessons from Abaddon, aren't you?" Dean leaned forward against his hold, smirking wide close to his face.

Cas' hands dropped away. He stepped back, scrutinizing Dean. This had been someone he'd loved. And now, confusion clouded his thoughts to the point of rendering speech impossible.

_What did she do to you?_

Dean stalked closer, nearly pressing him against the wall. The previous grin fell away like a bag of sand. "Kill me Cas. Kill me before you regret letting me live," Dean pleaded, his voice strained low, his brows bent together; a completely different animal than two seconds ago.

Cas squinted to try and differentiate the two personalities that he was seeing.

"I cannot experience your death again," he said.

"Too fucking bad! My dying is the least of your worries, angel."

 _Angel,_ Cas repeated silently. He hated the term, it sounded derogatory. Perhaps it was meant to be. Regardless, it made him feel estranged from this version of Dean. Wholly detached, just like any other useless soldier with wings.

"Dean, pl—"

The door was thrown open to reveal the tall form of Sam Winchester between the jambs.

"Dean!" Sam announced. The hope of his brother's resurrection flared the same as his eyes.

Dean turned to the door, breathing rough, nostrils flared, moving his shoulders in such a way that Castiel pictured a raging bull. Not good. Every muscle he possessed tensed to stop whatever storm might be coming.

Hoping Dean was wrong, he sincerely prayed that he wouldn't regret his decisions. Which had been based mostly from selfish needs.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" Dean hummed, a toothy smile spreading his face. Sam blinked, the ghost of joy building in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Castiel grimaced, knowing Dean's words and grin were in no way genuine. No. They were quite sinister. The flipping between Dean and Monster had spun back on him again.

The younger brother should've seen through it, but perhaps he was in denial.

Sam took one big step into the room and threw his long arms around Dean's shoulders, holding Dean tightly against his chest. Dean turned his head to the side to rest against his brother's shoulder, smiling at Cas. It was all wrong. Cas heard him whisper a taunt into his brother's ear: "You would've fit right in, Sammy… The boy with the demon blood. The one who likes fucking demons."

Sam shoved back, his mouth falling open. "What do you—"

Castiel witnessed the self-doubt flash in Sam's eyes. It had been a long time since he'd seen it, but of course, Dean would know how best to torture the young man with a simple string of words.

" _Dean_ —" Castiel warned, the threat fully laid out. Dean licked his lips as if he were excited for it.

"I always thought Alastair was the best, but I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, boys. And man oh man, Sammy, if Abaddon had gotten her perfectly sculpted nails into you? Oh, the thing you would've become," Dean drawled almost wistfully, turning away from his brother whose pallor had gone white.

"And what have you become, Dean?" Sam stiffened. "A coward who puts a bullet in his brain?"

"A coward?" Dean echoed with growing rage. "I showed you mercy, you thankless fuck!" Dean angled towards his brother and Castiel positioned himself in kind.

"Mercy from what, Dean?" asked Sam.

Dean took a menacing step forward. "From me, _brother_."

"I'm not scared of you," Sam shot back, holding his place.

"You should be."

"Dean, I've been to Hell too, ya know, in case it slipped your mind! I've had Lucifer ride around in my skin for weeks. _And_ _Gadreel_!" the younger brother took in a thick breath before continuing, his voice lowered. "Look, you're awake. It's more than I expected to be honest. You've been through Hell before, Dean, you'll get through this." The optimism and certainty sparked like electricity throughout his being. Castiel hated to see it.

Dean leaned back. "Been through Hell before?!" he repeated, mocking the words. "Oh, Sammy…you don't know the fucking half of it!" All of him seemed to harden, the muscles twitching uncontrollably. Castiel watched Dean flinch, as if he were gearing up for an attack. A smile curved across his face—anticipatory like a predator.

As he'd expected, Dean lunged, hammering his right fist against Sam's face so fast that he got in a good couple hits before Castiel could attack from behind. Moving in close to reach Dean's skin and drop him like a stone, Dean swung an open hand backward and jabbed a finger right into his eye socket. Castiel screamed from the sudden strike of pain, not anticipating such an atrocious action. Reaching new levels of incensed purpose, he repaired his vessel. With the return of his vision, he saw Dean grinning as he fought. The older brother had become the stronger of the two, bearing down over Sam's astonishing six-foot-four frame.

Dean was pushed right up close, his two hands stretching around the thick throat—ready to strangle his own kin. Castiel was moving towards them when Dean suddenly scrambled back, slamming hard against Castiel's front.

Dean whirled on him, his eyes blown wide in terror… "GET ME THE _FUCK_ OUT OF HERE!" he screamed, his hands reaching up and dragging over his scalp. Sam had dropped to the floor when Dean had let go and Castiel couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. Dean's panicked, hysterical screams continued to barrel around the room.

"Get me out of here! Get me out!"

Castiel tried to comprehend the situation, tried to make sense of it, to figure out how to remedy it, but he couldn't. Dean was flipping between looks of sheer terror and delighted amusement. Castiel didn't want to wait to see which emotion won out so he grabbed him and transported them outside.

Dean was pulled taut, straining, his eyes dark and his lip bloody from having bit down on it.

"Dean! Control yourself!" he commanded.

Dean twitched, a grin twitched its way through. Not exactly the reaction he'd wanted. At this rate, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to see Dean smile again.

"You fucking piece of shit." Dean laughed, the sound dark and bitter. "I asked you to take me out and you lied…you kept me alive like a fucking lab-rat. Well, you know what?! That is exactly what I am… You want to know the creature that Abaddon made of me? _Do you?!"_ Dean raised his voice enough that Castiel was sure Sam could hear from inside, sensing that the brother was conscious again.

Castiel didn't respond; he didn't blink.

"You and Sam…y-you think this is because of Hell?" Dean gestured to himself. "You think this is like before?"

Stepping into his space, Dean said, "Do you want to know what she did with me? What we did together?"

Castiel stood there mute and motionless, letting Dean continue to let it go. Seeing his old friend this way, that freckled skin a mad red and his body poised for violence, Castiel's chest ached, his throat pinching closed from the breath-robbing mixture of fear and sorrow.

Instead of providing the explanation, Dean shifted lithely to press against Castiel's pounding chest. Dean grabbed his hips and gyrated a thick rod of male genitalia roughly against his crotch. It might've hurt if he'd been human. Castiel forced himself not to react, his brain suddenly recalling other distasteful memories.

Dean's breath was warm and moist against his cheek, the breath skirting over his ear. It should have felt good…it didn't.

"You feel that, angel?" he asked. "That's from fighting my own brother," he explained; his voice rough with something close to arousal or pain, Castiel couldn't be sure, and really, _really_ didn't want to know the answer. "Mmmm, Cas, it felt so good to feel his skin splitting under my fist. To feel his windpipe getting closed off, to watch him struggle for air—" Dean groaned wickedly against the low curve of his jaw, rubbing his hardened arousal against Cas' very flaccid and disinterested sex.

Castiel felt like he might be sick.

"She ripped through my insides and stitched all my parts back together in all the wrong places. Every thought and feeling twisted so that I would respond the way she wanted, so that I would want the things she wanted… When she felt good, _I felt good._ " Dean's words seemed to curl with need and longing.

"You're gonna regret letting me live, I promise you," Dean warned, licking a stripe over the side of his face with his tongue. In another time, in another situation Castiel might have been aroused by that tongue. But now…he wanted to rip Dean's arms off. Grief tore through him as he mourned the man who'd held his face gently in a dream with promises of… _promises_ that were wasted now. Gone into ether.

He tried not to let it drag him under. Cas needed to remember that Dean was still there somewhere. Cas had lost him before and they always managed to find each other. 'They' may be a concept that would never take shape, but Dean was still alive and still human and his suicidal tendencies became a corrupted silver lining in this tragedy.

"Just the fact that you wanted me to kill you tells me everything I need to know," Castiel finally spoke, stepping away from the man he didn't truly know anymore. The organ inside his chest felt like a rock, the heavy weight pulling at him from the inside.

"Oh, I'm not stupid, Cas. I know right from wrong…but it doesn't matter." Dean half laughed, a chortle, as he backed away over towards his car that Jody or Sam must've left parked out front.

"She programmed me; turned me into her perfect demented play thing. And the truth is… I miss it. I want it. Fuck, I need it," his voice hardened and stretched, the string of desperation blooming like a heroin addict.

"We…we can fix you," said Cas in a lame attempt.

"Nah, I'm quite sure I'm exactly the way I was meant to be," Dean said, pulling the car door open. "You wanted me to live?" He tipped his head back to the sky. "Oh, I'm gonna live…" Dean dropped into the driver's seat and tore off down the lane. Obviously he'd taken the keys from Sam's pocket…something Cas surely should have checked for.

It hardly mattered though; the angel shielded his physical form and flew to the passenger seat of the Impala, hoping to remain undetected.

What the hell was he supposed to do? Trap Dean in the Men of Letters dungeon? Something told him that wouldn't do any good. Cas knew that Dean could not be on his own. That much he was sure of. So he followed, invisible beside the man who'd almost kissed him once. Who'd been shy, and cocky, and absolutely beautiful.

And now…

Castiel turned to watch Dean as he drove, cataloging the many thoughts as they played across his features: hate, sorrow, pleasure, arousal, pain, need, disgust… All of them swirling through him like debris in a tornado.

Hours passed as they drove, and for a few moments along the way, Castiel pretended things were normal. But then Dean would shift within his skin somehow, a foul smile becoming a tick at the corner of his mouth, and Castiel would be reminded that things might never be normal again.

Urban lights flashed by the windows in the dark and Castiel realized they were in some metropolis; he couldn't be sure how long they'd been driving and hadn't paid attention. He stretched out his senses and realized they were now in another state. The part of town that Dean had driven them to was crime-ridden, dirty, and vulgar with its dark corners and unseemly establishments.

Castiel stared over at Dean, begging him to turn around in a silent plea. Begging him to not be this thing that he didn't recognize.

_Please come back to me._

Dean slammed on the breaks in the middle of the lane. Cars honked with irate bleeps from behind them. Disgruntled drivers swerved around the Impala, raising their middle fingers towards the man behind the wheel. The abruptly halted black shiny car in the middle of this horrid neighbourhood began to catch the eye of stragglers on the sidewalks and from between derelict buildings.

Dean smiled and put the car in park. Castiel furrowed his brows and observed with curiosity. He had no idea what Dean was doing. Was this a suicide attempt? If so, it was a strange one.

Castiel remained hidden from human eyes and continued to watch. Except, to his surprise, Dean turned his head to the side, his eyes boring right into Castiel's, as if he were _not_ completely invisible.

"We liked an audience," Dean explained, a wicked grin lighting up his features in the way that Castiel was coming to detest. The 'we' pronoun severely troubled him as well.

The man who'd returned from Hell a second time ran a hand down his chest and his stomach before groping over the front of his jeans. Castiel became further confused and worried. Yes, he understood Abaddon had done things to mess with Dean's senses and his reactions (his own memories proof of her torturous means), but he couldn't quite understand this particular course of action.

More honking echoed around the car and Castiel was tempted to mute the annoyances so that he could focus his energy on unravelling the disturbing puzzle that Dean had become.

Eyes closed, Dean dragged his hand back and forth over himself in rough swipes, digging deep into his groin with the heel of his palm.

The parked car in the middle of the roadway with the oblivious driver attracted the attention of a throng of large, threatening individuals that had emerged from a dimly lit building across the street. They were, arguably, some of the most massive humans Castiel had ever seen.

Dean smiled as he caught sight of them coming towards the Impala. A large fist pounded on the window. Dean did not cease his motions. If anything, he seemed to surge on with increased fervour.

"What the fuck's your problem, freak?" one of the large men asked; his voice muffled through the closed window.

Castiel deliberated his options, unsure whether to let this play out to learn more about what the hell was going on or to put an end to it, knowing, at the very least, that it would not end well.

Dean groaned thick from beside him, his head rolling back to the headrest. Something hard slammed, loud and screeching, against the side of the car, jostling them both. A solid instrument of some kind creating damage against the shiny metal skin of the Impala. The old Dean would have been unquestionably irate at those who would dare hurt his _'Baby'_. This Dean rubbed himself harder and smiled wider.

Castiel reappeared the second the door was wrenched open and multiple pairs of hands dragged Dean from the car.

Rounding the front of the car, Castiel expected to see Dean fight them as he'd done with Sam, and tried with Cas. Instead, he took note of Dean's loose, passive frame held up by large fists around the front of his well-worn jacket.

The men were demanding to know what was wrong with Dean, calling him names and saying how they were going to tear him to pieces, beat him to death and worse. Castiel pursed his lips and stepped forward to separate the two forces. Two of the men reached and grabbed at his shoulders but their efforts were inadequate.

"Cas… _No_. Stay there," Dean begged.

The men halted. Harsh words and threats—both irrational and idiotic came from these criminals. He paid them no attention and looked again at Dean. His wide eyes were filled with desperation. It made no sense.

"Don't." Dean shook his head. The men chuckled, giddy at the prospect of beating on someone. They smelled of alcohol and rank sweat. Castiel wanted to show them an angel's wrath, but he curbed the desire.

"Yeah, pretty boy, why don't you take a walk?" The one with unnatural looking light-coloured eyes and a strange hair cut said to him. Castiel wanted to smite him, but, again, he fumbled. His hesitancy was mistaken for his acquiesce and in the span of his lacking response, the first hit landed into Dean's stomach, his body buckling forward. Castiel stepped forward, but Dean's expression pulled him short.

"Cas…forty seconds. _Please_ …" he said. This wasn't the cruel monster that had attacked his own brother, it was something else. Castiel bit his lip. The Dean currently being held up by a man nearly bigger than Sam was, very briefly, more like the one he knew…and yet nothing like the one he knew.

Though it went against every component of his being, he hung back.

The man who'd hit Dean grinned wolfishly and landed another blow—this time right into the side of Dean's face, his mouth spurting blood. Castiel began to count the seconds. The men hit Dean…three of them specifically, while the other two made a show of pretending to hold Castiel, though they knew he was somehow stronger than them. Their insignificant brains still gave them the false security of their strength.

 _Twenty-nine, thirty…_ How did forty seconds seem so much longer than it had ever felt before?

Dean smiled; his teeth red and bloody. More blood dripped down his chin, a fist sunk into his lower abdomen and he groaned, but it didn't sound entirely like pain and Castiel had a moment to ponder things he'd rather not consider. He neared the last few seconds and as two simultaneous solid punches hit his ribs and his jaw, Dean yelled out, dropping in a thunk to the ground.

Castiel threw the two men beside him several feet in the air, satisfied by the sound of their frail human bodies landing in a crunch on the pavement. The distant sound of screams and sirens reached his ears—someone must've called the police when the beating had begun. The three remaining men ran but Cas had etched their faces into his memory and it didn't matter that Dean had obviously wanted this, those men would pay. Very, very painfully.

Castiel hoisted Dean up, feeling his floppy limbs dangle. He tossed Dean into the backseat of the Impala and got into the driver's worn place and turned them around on their way back to the bunker.

The moment they were out of that crusty hole of society, Castiel turned around in his seat and looked over at the man he'd once felt something with—some shared, wonderful emotion that came so close to being realized.

Naturally, awful luck had intervened to fuck things up. Dean would normally have said it was typical or expected. But Castiel only felt pain, raw and piercing—an echo of it similar to when he'd felt Dean's death, hearing his loneliness in those final minutes.

Looking over that man now, he saw the blood smeared and drying over his chin and lips. Dark red swelled up into a lump near his eye and on the right side of his cheek. The marks of violence pained him, but not as much as the dampness at Dean's crotch. Castiel had bared witness to some incredibly sadistic demons and angels in his time, but it was rare to see someone achieve orgasm from that level of pain without an ounce of sexual stimuli. He disregarded the pre-beating rubdown as it wasn't what had truly sent Dean over the edge.

Dean remained unconscious for the entire drive, even as Castiel had stopped to refuel. When Castiel parked the Impala out front, he exited and repaired the car with a swipe of his hand before pulling the back door open and reaching in to gather the broken man into his arms. He held Dean against his chest and flicked his wrist in the air, hearing the door slam shut behind him.

As he walked into the room, he saw Sam's face wasn't that much better than his brothers.

"What the hell happened to him!?" Sam asked, his tone worried, scared, and shocked all at once.

"Don't ask," Cas replied. He paused on the way to Dean's room to place two fingers against Sam's forehead. Sam blinked as he usually did from the healing—an automatic reaction of him wanting to close his eyes but not letting himself give in to the sensation. Not this time.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Where's Jody?" Castiel asked, not sensing another body within the premises.

"I asked her to go get some supplies." Sam shrugged his shoulders. It was so obviously an excuse to get the woman he now loved out of harm's way. Away from Dean.

The two shared a helpless expression. Sam opened his mouth to speak but Castiel interrupted before his voice took form.

"Wait."

Castiel carried Dean into his room. He used his grace to make Dean whole and clean, pushing him under the covers fully clothed. Dean mumbled something unintelligible and Castiel leaned over, bringing his ear closer.

"Dean?"

A ragged protest came out of Dean's mouth. "Don't let me…live…myself th-this way." His words strained like his ebbing consciousness. A raw fear set into his tight brows, contrasting his fading focus, eyes glazed with drowsiness.

Castiel frowned hard enough that it seemed to give him a headache. Though perhaps that was caused by the tightness of his ribcage. He reluctantly set Dean into a dreamless, nightmare-free sleep.

...

Back in the front room, Castiel stared hard at the floor. Not out of shame or embarrassment, but from the dragging weight that was crushing down on him. The weight of his head simply too heavy to lift up onto his neck, and so he let it hang.

"Cas…" Sam nudged gently. The two of them stood near the large table. The place of many conversations now spread out in their history. None of them had been pleasant, at least none that he could recall.

He sighed. A human expression of so many things—in this instance: Hopelessness.

"What happened?" asked Sam, his words wrought with concern.

"You don't want to know." In a vain attempt to meet Sam's gaze, he tried to lift his head up, but it was ridiculously tiring, given his angelic status. If only Sam had been shorter, or he taller.

"Cas…you were right before. I mean, I get it. I agree with you, he's there somewhere. I want to help. You can't fix him on your own."

"It's worse than I expected. He's become a masochist and a sadist…in the extreme. What she did…" Castiel stopped, his voice running out. He wiped a palm over his face; a gesture learned from the two men he'd considered friends— _family_ —for so long.

"I don't know how to fix this," Castiel admitted, shrugging his shoulders. He felt so defeated, like he was reliving Dean's death, but slower. It was not the death of his body but his entire personality. It's not to say that Dean was ever a bright, positive, or intimate person before—he surely wasn't. There was a darkness inside the man in the room down the hall that Castiel's light couldn't penetrate. Something deep and engraved into Dean's soul and his body and his thoughts…

 _Everywhere_. It spread out like a disease.

"What exactly did she do to him? Do you know?" Sam asked.

Castiel shot him a tired look.

"I wanna help Cas, I really do, but you need to let me. I want him back just as bad as you do." Sam leaned back to sit on the edge of the table.

Castiel dropped into the chair at his back, letting his entire torso lean down over his thighs. Sam reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort that Castiel greatly needed. He sighed again before raising his eyes to meet Sam's.

"If it had been regular torture, I would say he'd be fine. Even if the torture had been… _particular_ …I still think he could have gotten over it. But in possessing him she was able to control his body, change him, force the sensations that she wanted him to…experience. It was the ultimate form of conditioning and brainwashing. Even as an angel, that's not something that can simply be…fixed," he explained in a drabble of forced words. Sam listened, his breath stalling at intervals.

"Cas…?" Sam's mouth formed a hard line.

"He was…umm…excited from…hurting you," Castiel said slowly, wishing he didn't have to say the words at all. It was painful to voice the horrible reality.

"Yeah? So? He liked torturing people before Cas—that first time in Hell. This isn't news," Sam contested, floundering to find the problem. "He'll get past it."

"Sam, you misunderstand. Dean was very… _carnally_ excited," he clarified, swallowing down a thick sticky lump in his throat.

It took a quick second to register. When it did? Sam's face drained of colour and the pace of his heart stuttered.

"Oh." The single syllable all but jumped from his mouth. All at once, his precise features reformed into cruel rage. " _Jes-us Chriiiiist!"_ Sam's breath came in harsh streaks of air, his shoulders moving up and down like he had half a mind to start a fight for no real reason. "That. _Fucking._ B _ITCH!_ " Sam slammed his fist onto the table making Castiel flinch at the sudden thud and clanking of the glass and metal lamp sitting a foot behind Sam.

"Yes."

"She needs to die. _NO_. Scratch that… She needs to be fucking torn to shreds… I swear to God—" Sam seethed, his rage stumping his torrent of threats.

Empty threats.

"We don't know how to kill her, and at this point…where Cale and Crowley are at, there's no point. It will have to be enough that she rot in the pit for all eternity."

"It isn't enough," Sam practically growled. The straight lines of his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth hard enough that Castiel could hear it.

"I know. Trust me…I know."

Sam shifted from the table, pacing a few steps and spun back to face him. "Okay, so this is bad…and-and awful and everything. But it's not impossible. Dean's not the first person to get…ya' know…messed up or-or whatever." The challenge to find the right words without saying anything that would make either of them cringe caused him to stutter.

"It's not just that, Sam. I'm…I'm fairly certain that if we had left him there any longer he would've become a demon." Cas vomited the words out. He'd feared the thought since he heard Dean's voice in Hell, and the possible reality had stuck with him, festering like a wound.

"But he's not…so there's hope." Sam offered a shaky smile, "And really, even if he had been turned into a demon, we have a spell for that." The supposedly reassuring statement held all the weight of a young calf trying to stand on newborn legs.

"So…what do we do?" he asked. If anyone's advice on the subject would count—it would be Sam's. It occurred to him that even though the majority of their relationship was linked through Dean and that nearly every encounter was flooded with some form of pain or fear, he felt a kinship with Sam. A solid foothold that he could use to leverage himself when he felt like there was no real surface beneath his feet; no wind to carry his grace and his wings. A brother unlike those from his former life.

"I'm not sure," said Sam, after a moment of thought. "But we'll figure it out. For now, do you think we should, um, I don't know, like tie him up or something?" Sam asked, uncertain, straining his jaw into a peculiar frown.

"I fear he would _like_ it, so, perhaps not," Castiel replied. "We'll have to watch him very closely though."

"Definitely." Sam glanced up towards the door as Jody came through carrying small paper bags. Castiel could smell the ingredients of spell work and other hunter necessities from where he stood.

"So, have I been out long enough?" she asked directly to her lover.

Sam chuckled, the lilt of his voice relieved of the earlier tension.

"Saw right through me, huh?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as she sauntered down the steps.

"I always do," said Jody, moving past Castiel. Reaching Sam, she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. The younger Winchester still had to dip his head down for her touch.

Castiel beamed at them, feeling the first real flood of warmth spread through him.

"I am very happy for you both," he expressed, smiling sincerely.

They muttered an awkward thanks; both of them uneasy over the sudden attention on their relationship. Something Castiel suspected they didn't spend much time discussing.

/\/\/\

Later, Sam tried not to let his mind wonder, he tried to focus on the book he was reading about demon possession and if there is way to remove impressions once a demon was exorcized. So far he only discovered that while memories can be taken away, desires and _tastes_ acquired through the demon's possession may remain.

Great.

Nausea lingered in waves whenever he thought back to Dean waking up and throwing punches, trying to strangle him. Now that Sam had all the disgusting facts about it, he would shiver at the memory. Becoming so utterly disturbed over it that he found Jody's touch didn't offer the same comfort it normally did.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked for the fourth time. He tried to remain patient.

"No. I can't…" He waved a hand in the air dismissively.

When Dean had been comatose, Sam had given up, not letting himself dare to hope because he couldn't handle Dean's death again. It was better to pretend he was already dead when he was lying there all prone and still. Some part of Sam even thought it was better for Dean...not wanting him to suffer.

But then his older brother had woken up, and in that action, Sam's hope had returned of its own accord. As mortified as he was about what he could only imagine had happened in Dean's short stint in Hell, he had to believe that Dean would get past it.

The long silence that had fallen over the room had him craning his neck to look behind himself. The space was empty.

"Hey!" he called out. "Where'd ya go?" he hollered louder, hoping his voice carried to wherever she was, not really wanting to get up. Then he cursed... _Goddamn,_ he was already getting lazy in this relationship.

Sam popped out of the chair and started walking towards the kitchen. She wasn't there.

Turning left, he made his way to what he now considered to be _their_ room. It was there he found her seated on the bed, her legs pulled up against her chest, her chin resting on the top of her knees.

"Hey," he greeted softly, closing the door behind himself.

"Hey." The smile she sent his way was weak at best.

"Are _you_ okay?" he asked, moving to sit in front of her. His large hand settled over hers, laced together around her ankles.

"I'm fine, Sam. It's _you_ I'm worried about…and Dean, of course. And, _man_ , that angel sure is in deep, isn't he?" She laughed without humour. With a blunt exhale, Sam agreed. Cas certainly was in love with Dean, there was no denying that. Watching his heart break over the last few days had been rough.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, Sam, and that's okay, but don't push me away. Since I got back you've been cringing every time I've tried to touch you, and—"

"Oh shit." Realization dawned. "No, no, no. Sorry. Jody, it's not you at all. Fuck." Sam squeezed both her hands in his. Tugging gently, he brought her closer. "The thing with Dean…is…uh…weird. I guess. And it's got me stuck with this crawling feeling. Please, please don't be offended. I'm just, so totally not in any the mood to be-to be…touched, but I swear it's not you. Cas and I talked and it's left me in a really weird place. That's all. I promise." In an attempt to reassure her, he stroked her arm gently but enough presence to show that he was more than okay with the two of them.

Jody's smile broadened but didn't lighten her eyes. "Okay." She nodded, accepting his words without much explanation.

Sam twisted at his hips and sought out the warmth of her lips in a chaste kiss, nothing wet or arousing by any means. Knowing now what his brother had likely gone through, the thought of sex was the absolute furthest thing from his mind.

"I'll tell you everything when I'm able," he promised. Even now, he probably could if he forced himself but he just wasn't in the mood to tell the woman he was in love with about how his brother had been conditioned to get his rocks off from hurting people…including his own family. Sam had always known their lives were fucked up, but this really took the cake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quote is from Animal I have Become by Three Days Grace


	14. There's Nothin' Like Angel Heroin

It was late but they weren't sleeping, and neither were in the mood for sex. Jody was curled against his side. Her breasts squished into his ribs where he could feel her even breaths expanding against him. In lazy patterns, her fingers trailed over his chest. The train of his thoughts held no direction, aimlessly drifting between random feelings and memories.

Once when Dean was about twelve, he'd come back with their dad bruised and tired. His tone had been sharp as he'd responded to his little brother. Sam remembered being upset that Dean seemed mad at him for no apparent reason. He'd been too young, too self-absorbed to realize that Dean was in pain, needing comfort of his own.

Their father had left them only hours later, saying another hunter claimed to have run into demons nearby. Sam had been angry their dad was bailing so soon after getting back. Truth was, he never really stuck around for all that long. Normally, Sam wouldn't have cared, but seeing Dean sulk over on the bed, grumpy, irritated him. He didn't want to be stuck here.

He remembered Dean lying back, an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light from the parking lot and the TV on mute by the far wall across from the beds. Resigned, he tried to make the best of it.

"Dean?" Sam climbed up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged by his brother's hip.

"What'd'ya need Sammy?" Dean asked impatiently.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I got my fucking ass kicked, that's what's wrong with me. Now leave me the hell alone," Dean snapped, turning away to lie gingerly on his side.

That was when Sam realized that Dean was not mad at him at all. Perhaps it had been the shock of it—seeing Dean hurt that way for the first time—was simply not something Sam had expected. Especially after having assumed his whole life that his brother and his dad were invincible.

"When dad says I'm old enough I can come too and then you'll be okay," said Sam, patting Dean's arm.

His brother twisted around partway to face him. Sam couldn't have fully described the emotion at the time, reading it as sadness in his limited capacity of life experiences. But over time his memories had been given the benefit of his increasing age and awareness and he'd come to realize that Dean had been more than just sad, but scared and resigned to some great loss.

"I hope you never get old enough," Dean had said, his eyes glassy. A tear had managed to slip free on a blink and Sam had wiped it off with the long sleeves of Dean's hand-me-downs.

"Don't cry, ya' big baby," Sam had mocked, mimicking his older brother. It had the intended effect of making Dean laugh.

As young as he'd been, Sam fully recalled not having slept that night. Staying awake to be the one to watch over Dean instead of the other way around. The memory was so strong, probably since it was the first time Sam had ever felt like a protector instead of the protected.

Looking back over the course of their hard life, he concluded that he pretty much failed watching over Dean, hadn't he? Dean had raised him, more or less, made sure he was safe on hunts, made sure he was safe from bullies, from everything. Teaching him everything he knew so that if Dean couldn't be there, Sam could hold his own. Why had he never done the same? Not only about fighting and monsters and being there for him in a fight, but knowing that he was always the more emotionally stable of the two, why had he not helped Dean? Why—in knowing how god-awful their relationship was becoming—did he not try harder to fix it?

The memories soon transformed into dreams, and they took the shape of the battles they'd faced. In each replay, the true story warped so that each outcome was of Sam forcing Dean away so that he could take on the monster single-handedly. And yet, when the deed was done, Sam turned back to find Dean dead on the ground. The final monster was red-haired and cruel beyond measure. And when he turned back—

Sam woke with a start, his breath quick and his heart racing. Jody was leaning over him, a line of worry wrinkled into her forehead. The last image before he'd been startled awake had stuck with him and he found he couldn't speak just yet.

"They're here," she said, continuing to check him over. Satisfied that he seemed alright, she grabbed his hand and dragged him off the bed. His limbs were sluggish and he cracked his neck to try and loosen the stiffness. It didn't help in the least.

Rubbing his eyes, he slowed his pace as they went by Dean's room. Sam rapped on the door with a single knuckle, not wanting to disturb more than the angel inside.

Cas opened up and blinked, looking as groggy as Sam felt.

"They're here," Sam repeated and the three made their way out into the main room. Sam bounded up the steps, feeling more awake with each step. He pulled the door open finding a crooked grin and a surly soon-to-be ex-demon.

"Soul safely in Heaven?" Sam asked as they made their way down to the map table. It was still slightly unnerving that Crowley knew exactly where their "bat-cave" was. But he figured pretty soon it wouldn't matter anymore.

"You bet. Hell really smells like ass doesn't it?" Cale shook his head, everyone tried to give him the reaction his comment was meant to elicit but they were all too strung out.

"Well, aren't ya'll a lively bunch," Cale drawled. "How's the rescuee?" he asked, looking quizzically first at Sam and then turning to Cas. The angel comically tilted his head, squinting in that unique way of his.

"Rescuee is not a proper conjugation of the word rescue." Cas corrected with utmost seriousness. Sam lowly chuckled.

Cale raised his brows, amused, evidently. "Yeah, yeah, feathers, so how's he doin'? Still out in la-la land or what?"

/\/\/\

Dean kept out of sight as he eavesdropped on the conversation. The second Cas had left the room, he'd woken. Feeling the weight of his limbs, he could tell that traces of Cas' influence lingered, trying to dampen the hormones pushing him awake. He fought it. Now that he was intent to stay in the land of the living, he wanted to be alert, and not trapped inside his own mind. Without her in there with him, it simply wasn't the same.

Scratching, he wished he didn't feel perpetually itchy, and hot. A crawling sensation like a thousand miniaturized centipedes scurried under his skin and in his veins. But that wasn't all he'd parted Hell with. Bonus was, he also constantly had this coiling twist in his gut and in his groin, yanking at his thoughts with the urgency of a necessary basic function like breathing and a heartbeat.

He was pissed that Cas had healed him from the beating however many hours ago. The sharp, sensation-commanding feel of pain had felt so good. If he thought hard enough he could feel the agony and the tightness of his arousal, the double blow sending him into a blast of momentary ecstasy.

Curving himself against the wall, he grated his molars as he listened, trying not to give in to the want, to hold himself back from going and searching out for the closest weapon to kill all the people he'd once cared about.

Dean's mind dredged up all the sick, fucked up things he could do and despite the growing erection in his jeans, he forced himself to respond by biting his tongue. It didn't help. If anything, it only gave in to the feeling, making him harder.

"He's woken up," he heard Castiel say tentatively.

"And?" The southern accent pushed on. Dean recognized the voice. A tan face and cocky attitude came to mind. Cale… Fucking idiot had gone and fallen in love with a demon. What a dope, thought Dean.

"He's recovering," someone replied. Dean nearly snorted but didn't want to give away his presence. Even so, he wondered if Cas knew he was here anyway.

The prickle of need flared. Looking down at his forearm, he reached across himself and scraped his nails against the flesh, feeling hot blood well up from the minute tears in the skin. Dean shivered. If he died, would he end up back in hell?

Eyes unfocused, he lost track of the conversation as he resisted his body's growing urge for the things it had come to enjoy. Not a pleasant, wholesome enjoyment but a fucking clawing frantic demand that sent his head reeling in a pounding headache that he knew only Abaddon could fix.

And what a fix it had come to be! He'd never felt things the way she made him feel them.

"…floated up like a friggin' glow-stick helium balloon or somethin'. Weird as shit." Cale's twang interrupted his thoughts with sharp attention.

The trials, his brain spat.

"I don't think you should use the same place, Abaddon may be knee deep in trying to control Hell but that doesn't mean she won't try and stop you."

Dean's nerve-endings fired off, burning with rage. _They were going to shut down Hell!?_ His blood surged bubbling hot in those tiny little pipes inside his body. _Her_ body. Fuckers were going to trap her there? What would he do without her to feed the monster she'd made?

Christ, the bitch had hollowed him out and slithered inside with her blackness and now he felt uncomfortable working the pieces, not sure how to fix the gnawing ache and piercing stabs that he felt everywhere like barbed wire.

Dean missed the lack of control, the mindless plea for relief—however wicked and horrible of a deed that had served to give his body and brain a moment's peace. She'd been so good at forcing it all, over and over again. He'd begun numb to it, until her presence pushed him from the inside, tearing from him the most explosive orgasms he never thought possible. At first he'd felt sick. A weird, psychological nausea. But in time, that had been replaced with her thoughts, his thoughts—they all melded together now. His body, her body...it was all the same.

They were one and the same. _We belong together, Dean._ Yes. Yes, we do.

Still, he knew it was all wrong. He knew everything about who he was had gotten flipped around on itself. Dean saw the scenes of his past life with fuzzy detachment, viewing it through distorted panes of glass, like watching a movie inside a stranger's home from the street.

More words from the other room broke through his thoughts. No, no, no, thought Dean. This was not good. A growing spike of pain throbbed where he'd begun to pull back on his own fingernail. It was enough to hurt but not enough to tear the thing off, though he was tempted. It brought a moments' focus. A shifting clarity that was tainted red. Maybe his brain was compensating for how damn bright it was up here. Dean longed to be in the dark again, he longed for the degrading violence that had been forced on him, from him—the distinction never mattered.

"It shouldn't be you, man." He heard his brothers pained voice. The sound was roughened, in a familiar way, as if Sam were fighting back tears. Dean tried not to smile in response, he didn't want to, but he did. He groaned inwardly, pressing himself harder against the wall. _Sammy..._

Stop it.

_Don't be like that, sunshine._

"Pray to me when it is done," Cas said.

Oh damn, how he wanted to hear that voice break, scream, and beg.

No. _Oh, yes._

Rocking against the wall, he heard muted shuffling, clothes rubbing together. Murmured goodbye's. Someone sniffed twice. Dean wanted to put his head through a wall. Not in the figurative impatient-irritated sense, but in a real, pain-inducing, pleasure-inducing way.

_Let's play, sweetheart._

Dean turned his head as the voice inside stretched against his consciousness. The burn and twist in him felt like a signal of something. He began to fidget, trying to clamp down on the impending shift. If he could only hurt himself and not give in to anything else, maybe…maybe he would revert back to who he'd been. A wave of sickness flopped in his stomach and he knew that was not what he wanted. Yes, he liked being her creation. I'm not _Dean Winchester_ ; I'm her skin and her bones, her instrument, her bag of fun.

Fuck. Fuuuuucck.

Why didn't they kill me?

_Because death is boring…_

Get out of my head. No, wait, stay, stay, play, stay. Goddammit, don't close hell. Don't…I-I can't be alone. I'm part of us.

No… No, no, no.

 _Yes_.

Gotta stop the itch. _How_ do I stop the itch? Death, yes death, is the only sure way, but death is boring. Death…maybe for both of us? You die. I die.

Fuck. Goddammit, get a grip. This isn't who you are.

 _Deeeaaaannnn…_ No, I have to kill you.

Have to kill that fucking whorebitchsexyfuckingtwisted…

Nonononono…wait-wait-wait. _Ugghhhh!_

"Dean." Cas' voice pierced through him like the crack of a whip. Becoming eerily still, he grinned down at the angel.

"Don't do it," the protest escaped his mouth before he could try and hold it back. _You don't want to hold it back,_ the voice said.

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You're broken Dean, not ruined," Castiel said.

Dean laughed. "What about psychologically damaged?!" he sang, raking his fingers across his scalp, remembering Cas getting all up inside him, not _nearly_ having the same fullness of presence that Abaddon had. "Am I still that too?" Huh?

"I think we are beyond that," Castiel stated. The deep, erotic voice was far too stiff and controlled for Dean's liking. Sam walked up behind the bright angel and moved to stand in front of Jody.

How cute.

"Oooh! Would you look at that? Sammy's got himself a toy!" he teased. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm a toy too." Dean could tell Sam wanted to rearrange his face with those big fists of his. By the looks of it, Jody wanted a go at him too. What a party that would be.

Man, he wanted to feel it; blissful pain exploding across his face. And, mmm, he wanted to reciprocate. No! _Yesssssss_! A scream rose from inside him. Not the true vocal kind, but a rise of noise in the shape of a screeching battle between his inner thoughts and the other part of himself.

The screaming got louder and louder. Stop! It needs to stop.

_No. Not that. More, you need more._

It's too much. Stop... Fuck, so much noise. Can't think…

As though there was still another being inside him, his body twitched and twisted, trying to bring himself under some semblance of control. Or perhaps, there was a beast inside and it was trying to break free.

Fuuuuck… Remember yourself. But _Why?_

_Whywhywhywhywhy…_

Suddenly, eyes were in front of him. Giant, clear blue ones. So very close. Fuck, they looked squishy. Well, _that_ was not a normal thought.

Dean laughed hysterically. Christ, what even was left of him that could be counted as normal. The tainted skin? _Nope_. The demented mind? _Certainly not_. And what about those physical responses? Dean mused. Hell _and_ no. Abaddon didn't like normal toys. Where would the fun have been in that?

Ugh… Was he shaking now, too? Nah, too fast for the shake. More like he was fucking vibrating; the atoms and cells of his body from head to toe simultaneously freaking the fuck out.

Channeling the Beatles, Dean hummed; _I'm picking up good vibrations! She's giving me excitations. Oom, bop, bop._

Are you satisfied? he wondered. You made me into a demented cell phone, he thought down at her. _Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz… I'm ringing, bitch. Come answer the fucking phone!_

Out of nowhere, the turmoil inside Dean lowered to a whisper, the world turning quiet around him.

"Look at me…" Cas' voice dripped out slow and syrupy, rolling over him. His body sagged, tension loosening like knots come undone. Distantly, he was aware of a thumb rubbing over the vein at his wrist in a repetitive pattern. It was like being drugged…a nice dose of angel heroin. White, and bright, and soft…

Dean relinquished control, letting his green eyes find their way to the blackness in the middle of the angels'. The blackness soon became bright somehow.It was like ice being blasted by the sun in the middle of the arctic. It hurt his eyes to look at it. And yet he began to fall towards it.

Someone was chattering away but all he saw was the endless white-blue blast stretching around him, kind of like Heaven.

With his last hold on sanity, he managed one request: "Don't bring me back." Good God, just let me die. It was a softer voice than Abaddon would have liked. Without question, he would miss her.

Someone shushed him and then everything went lights-out.

 


	15. The Return of the King

Violent quaking of the bed threw him into consciousness like taking a hit of ice water. Dean bolted up on his bed and knew what it meant.

A wretched scream tore its way out of his throat. It rang out until his throat was raw and there was nothing but air. The entire room shook so bad the world could have been ending as far as anyone else knew.

He felt himself being distanced, torn apart, from Hell. _From her._

Dean wanted it to please him, he really did. But it hurt, and no amount of rational thought could override the pain of it. His creator was now locked away.

Cas rushed into the room in a panic, obviously unsure as to what was happening to him.

"Knock me out!" he shouted, white-knuckling the blanket in tight fists.

"Dean!" Cas raced over, checking him over for a sign that something was wrong.

"Please, please, knock me the fuck out. Do it now!" No sooner were the words out of his mouth and he was turning on Cas, a growl rumbling from his chest.

Dean was losing his grip, he was—

/\/\/\

Cas swiftly pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and forced him into a coma-like sleep. The man's limp body fell back against the bed, head thumping heavily onto the pillow.

A shaky breath rippled out of the angel in a not so relieving sigh.

Passing a hand over his face, he tried to rub out the tension as best he could. The shaking of the earth had finally come to a lurching stop. The region would be panicking. As it was, Castiel could distantly hear the cacophony of prayers for help. Thankfully, the shock-waves from shutting hell weren't catastrophic, though he imagined some damage had occurred. There weren't many earthquakes in this area, and definitely not ones of this magnitude. The structures, save for the fortress that was the bunker, hadn't been engineered to withstand violent movements of the earth.

Tuning out the prayer of a man begging for help from God that the damage incurred wouldn't render him bankrupt, Castiel observed the still form below him.

Using his sleeve, he wiped the sweat from Dean's forehead, his thoughts concentrated on the man lax on the bed. Would his friend get better? Or would it get worse before it got better? Maybe…maybe his Father had not anticipated this outcome. Maybe there was no fixing this.

But then, at least Dean didn't ask me to kill him, Cas reasoned. That had to be something.

The essence within him, his grace, felt bruised, curling away to a place in the depth of his being where it wouldn't be so regularly mistreated by his human emotions. Angels had been built to follow orders, to guide and assist the human race. They were never meant to fall in love…and they were certainly never meant to be heartbroken. The feeling was at such odds with the fabric of what he was, and though he couldn't say whether it hurt more or less than a humans sorrow of the same making, it did feel that way.

Clearing away his thoughts, Castiel bent down and kissed Dean's forehead. "I miss you," he whispered.

/\/\/\

Sam sat at the end of his bed, phone in hand, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. Jody paced in front of him.

It was done. Cale was dead. The guy had been a kid. Younger than Sam! Unshed tears burned his eyes. It wasn't fair to the guy.

"Goddamn cowboy," he said with anguished endearment. Jody brushed away at her own tears having felt the loss of the hunter that she barely knew but had stood by her in Hell and that would bring anyone close.

A knock on the bedroom door broke their individual patterns of grief.

"Come in."

Cas stepped inside, taking note of their obvious hurt. The angel's face was also drawn long and tired, reflecting his own reaction to the loss.

"What happened with Dean?" Sam asked, his lips pinching together. He'd heard the scream. It had been gut-wrenching.

"I'm not sure. He appeared to be in pain…and evidently not the kind he seems to enjoy. But, physically, he's fine and he'll sleep for a while longer," Cas told them, devoid of emotion on the surface. Sam wondered what was brewing underneath all that stoicism.

"Crowley is praying to me. I will go retrieve him now."

Sam nodded, his foot falling still. "Okay. Bring back Cale's body."

"Of course," the angel responded with shared sorrow.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Jody wondered, looking to both of them for an answer.

"With Crowley?" they asked.

"Yeah."

"I have absolutely no clue," Sam said, running his hands through his hair and then down his face and rubbing over his mouth.

"I have to go." Without waiting, Castiel turned and left.

Upon his exit, Sam looked up at the woman he loved, trying to force himself to see the good here despite the loss. Sensing his stare, Jody set her eyes on him, slowly moving to stand between his long legs bent over the end of the bed.

Her hand brushed over his cheek, a thumb pressing down the line of his nose before sliding across his upper lip where she placed her own lips a second later.

"Lay down," she instructed, pushing against his broad chest. He started reclining until she grabbed his hip and pushed him onto his stomach. Sam wriggled up the bed with her straddling his ass.

The first press of her fingers into the muscles of his back made him tingle all-over. All of the straining, aching tension withered away on a shiver as her fingers moved in loose circles, digging deep into the meat over his bones. He couldn't remember the last time someone had given him a massage.

Sam moaned in comfortable pleasure as her hands did their magic. Inching down his back, she reached the edge of his shirt and snaked her fingers underneath to reach skin. Moving up in broad strokes, his shirt was pushed up towards his armpits. Jody tugged a couple times and he lifted up so she could pull the shirt off.

Planting himself into a nice comfortable dip on the bed, her warm fingers and palms resumed their touch, sliding hard across his back and shoulders.

Fingers spread and rubbed against the back of his neck under his hair, reaching up to scrape nails over the base of his scalp. They trailed down his spine and eased over to his sides and then up again.

Despite the grief being a heavy weight over his heart, Sam felt the relief of her touch and presence. Never before had he had someone to comfort him like this, and he valued everything about it.

"I love you," he sighed.

Jody froze, her hands stilling over his spine.

Blood drained from his cheeks— _Shit._ Never said that before, he thought.

"I didn't mean to blurt that," he said hastily, trying to shift around so he could look at her.

Pushing her weight on him, Jody leaned over towards his cheek. She kissed him at the corner of his mouth and then right at the edge of his ear.

"I love you too, Sam," she replied softly, her breath grazing into his ear and making him shudder with goosebumps. Her fingers spread through the mess of his long locks.

The statement wasn't shocking to either of them but Sam felt guilty he'd let it slip so mundanely. Jody playfully pulled some hair to get his mind to stop spinning with unnecessary worries. Her hands found their way back to his skin but they only resumed for a short five minutes when he heard noise in the bunker and knew Cas was back and they needed to get up.

"Are you sure you love me?" he asked, indicative of the constant interruptions and drama that plagued his life.

She laughed. "I'm sure. Now put your shirt back on." She smacked his ass as she got up and they were out into the hallway not thirty seconds later.

They could hear it before they turned the corner. Unrestrained, relentless blubbering.

Turning the corner, they found Cas half-hugging the ex-King, his hold awkward and uncomfortable, patting Crowley's shoulder—the former Demon a sobbing, snotty mess in Cas' arms. Words tumbled out of his mouth but he was so distraught and inconsolable that the speech was rendered indiscernible.

Sam looked at Cas, whose expression screamed for help much as it had when they'd encountered the Cupid what felt like a lifetime ago.

"There, there." Cas said, shrugging at Sam.

It was Jody who stepped up and took Crowley into her embrace, relieving the angel. The gesture said a lot considering the demon almost killed her once. Sam didn't care for the proximity, but his protective instincts were usually not received very well by her. Jody could hold her own anyway and he knew it.

Dismissed of his post, Cas jumped away so fast you'd think Crowley had been burning Holy oil.

Coming to stand beside Sam, he got serious. "Cale is outside. Prepare yourself. The ritual has altered him physically."

The wretched crying intensified in response to Jody's hushed words of comfort.

"Altered how?" Sam wondered.

"His skin's been etched with writing, much like that of a tablet." Cas inhaled and faced him. "Which concerns me. I am not sure we should be burning his body, as we'd planned."

"Or maybe it means we should," Sam argued, considering that the words might be the key to unlocking the gates of Hell, if the need was ever there.

"Either way, I think we should entomb him for now, somewhere in the bunker that is warded and safe." Cas headed towards the metal grate stairs.

"I guess that's our only option." Sam agreed and went up to lend a hand, forgetting that Cas didn't necessarily need the physical assistance of lifting a body.

Man, the angel hadn't been lying. Cale's skin had become the embodiment of a tablet. Dark grey criss-crosses of writing on every inch. Over his closed eyelids, his lips, even the inside of his ears.

"Jesus…" Sam exclaimed as the sight really cemented itself into his memories, digging down deep for the long-term.

"I did warn you," Cas countered in that blunt innocent way of his, lifting the hunter's body gently into his arms without an ounce of strain.

"Yeah, well…" Sam trailed off.

The two went back inside and Sam instructed Cas where in the bunker it would be safe for Cale's body. They'd inventoried almost the whole place now and there was one room that had space for bodies. It seemed more of a lab or autopsy room but it would function double-duty as a morgue for the time being.

They returned to the front room and tried to help Jody with Crowley. It was torment. After three hours of the grating sound of his high-pitched whimpers and whines and blabber, Cas put everyone at peace by knocking Crowley out with the touch of a finger.

"Thank God!" Sam and Jody exulted in unison.

"I never thought it would be this bad," Sam reflected, stunned and on edge from the drama.

"Me either. He was already sorta half-good at the end. Obviously that last nail in the coffin really did him in," added Jody.

Cas had been silent, biting his lip. "I'm going to go check on Dean," he mentioned tediously. But the worry showed in his eyes, hiding in all that blue. It was clear that the forced separation made him uncomfortable.

Sam was tempted to go with him but something told him that Cas wanted to be alone with his brother, even if Dean was flat on his back and unresponsive. Jody's presence gave Sam a measure of peace and comfort that he knew Cas was struggling to find in the aftermath of everything that had happened. It made him feel kind of guilty that instead of watching his loved one dwell in darkness, he could instead wrap his arms around them.

Wanting to do just that, Sam turned and grabbed her once Cas had disappeared around the corner. Wrapping his arms tight around her waist, he hoisted her up in the air and her legs flew around his hips on reflex.

"Well…someone's excited," she purred. God he loved seeing her smile.

"Hell is closed for good. Crowley's out for a few hours. Cas is with Dean… It's been one hell of a day, and I'd love to end on a good note…by going down on you," he told her boldly.

She smiled wide and it reached her eyes. "Sounds good to me, Winchester!"

With her mouth latched onto the side of his throat, Sam carried her into the room behind them with the giant telescope, pulling the sliding door on its tracks to close them in, and laid her out on the small table beside it.

/\/\/\

Anxiously, Cas stood outside Dean's room. The door was closed. He waited, readying himself to face the supine, still form that he saw more often than not lately.

He tried to remember that at least Dean hadn't tried to kill himself. Well…not within the last several hours or so. Time had somehow begun to be measured not in the patterns of light and darkness, or by the hands of time on a clock, but by the stretches of time when Dean was either awake or unconscious. There was considerably more of the latter.

Castiel didn't bother knocking; there was no point. He stepped into the room and lifted his eyes—

"Dean?!" he called into the empty space. Turning around back to the empty hallway, he stretched his senses throughout the bunker.

Panic lanced through him sharp as a spear.

Dean was gone.

 


	16. Take Me Down, Break Me, Set Me Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some disturbing stuff in this chapter. Seriously. Dean lets the dark-side kind of take him over, his weird attempt to control things, but its the push that breaks him back to a new state. Also the scene at the bar is very much crossing over into BDB if you are familiar with that series. Dubcon/bdsm/and something kind of icky that I didn't tag because its only indicated and not detailed. Not, in any way, meant to be written as a kink but more to show how far off Dean has gone from who he was.

> " _I've loved this body since the moment I first saw it," she said._
> 
> Please stop… I begged.
> 
> " _You're the perfect vessel, Dean," she whispered._
> 
> No. I'm not. I'm not.
> 
> " _You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas," she crooned._
> 
> Don't… Please…
> 
> " _Once I'm on top, I'll make you watch. And I'll use your body," she teased._
> 
> Yes, My Queen…
> 
> " _You and me, lover," she soothed._
> 
> Yessss…
> 
> " _We'll have a grand old time," she taunted._
> 
> We will… we did.

/\/\/\

Fucking goddamn lactic acid.

Hordes of the shit flooded into his muscles, tightening them down painful and rigid like rigor mortis. Dean gritted his teeth, grinding them as hard as he could, surprised they didn't start chipping away into bone dust.

He'd left the bunker as the others had been scrambling to deal with Crowley. Dean took off through the garage and left the cars behind, not wanting the sound to draw attention. He walked a few blocks before stealing a rusted shitbox. From there, he drove for as long as he could, nearly wasting the tank in a mindless roll of tires over asphalt. A familiar pattern: The black of the roads at night, a sight that should've calmed him. It didn't. The feeling of anarchy and chaos grew inside of him, something like fear sat there too, but the pain drowned it out.

It was too much.

He had to stop. Spasms pulsed through him, his muscles seizing, nearly throwing him into a head-on collision. The F150-driving fucker blared the horn at him, and Dean flipped him the bird, quickly wiping the sweat from his hairline and brow.

The worst of it peaked, and Dean was suddenly inundated with pain—too intense to ignore. And _not_ the good kind that he'd grown used to. Wrenching the steering wheel of the beat-to-shit compact, he pulled onto the side of the road to try and pull himself together.

"C'mon, man. You can handle this. You've been fucked up before," he coached himself, hands shaking, his fingers cold. _Don't turn crazy again… don't lose your shit._

Fighting the sensation, he grunted and growled, yanking at the steering wheel in frustration. If people drove past, they'd probably call the cops, " _Sir, there's a crazy man thrashing like a lunatic in an ugly POS. Come quick!"_

Goddammit. "Don't be this thing… Don't be this thing," he repeated.

He tried to think around the pain, around the pull and desires that he felt dragging him back to hell on earth. He couldn't rely on Abaddon anymore; she was locked away forever. Dean would have to control himself—or whatever was left of him.

Glancing down at his jittery hands, he wondered: _What even am I now?_

The full-body waves of agony made it nearly impossible to breathe, and so he sat there, muscles quaking as though he were bench-pressing a fucking Honda Civic.

Frustrated, he punched the dash hard enough to break skin and threw the car out of park, racing off from the side of the road. And if he crashed? No biggie. The broken bones would feel good anyway.

But for now, he fucking _needed_ something. Christ, he didn't know what, but this had to stop, this feeling racing through his veins was out of his control…he needed to get rid of it. He didn't care how.

Thirty strenuous minutes later he was parking the stolen POS outside a bar called Screamers in some hard-core part of downtown wherever the fuck he'd ended up. Walking into the dark-lit interior, he came face to face with a dance floor teeming with scantily-clad women covered in tight leather and spikes, and men who looked like they had advanced degrees in violent crime. It was obvious that this was not your regular neighbourhood hang-out where everybody knows your name. This was a place for the fucked-up people of society. He would even go so far as to say it was run or dominated by a non-human sect of society.

Yes, oh yes. This is what I need.

Dean walked through the crowd, radiating menace. The sea of horny and high moved quickly away from him. There was a VIP section at the back, a linear bar set along the far right side, and a mezzanine of offices above his head.

The high-octane atmosphere fluxed against his skin, making his insides hum. He rolled his neck and breathed it in. This skeazy place had a lot of closed-door rooms, a door to the alley right by the VIP area, and from what he could tell, a steady stream of illegal buys of both products and services.

He pushed his way to the bar, jaw clenching at the feel of bodies rubbing by him. Perusing the shelf of liquor, he order a double of Lag; a nice top-shelf whiskey, just as _she_ would've liked. Here's to you, bitch. Watching the bartender, Dean hoped the booze would do something to dampen the rocket-fuelled desires trying to batter-ram their way into control.

Dean tossed it back and ordered another. And another. _And another_. The expected buzz trickled through his veins, and he'd never been so relieved for a familiar sensation. Dean knew there was a possibility that this could backfire on him pretty fuckin' fast but for the time being he savoured the reprieve from the tightening of his muscles and downed another fucking drink.

A number of drinks later, a firm grip on his shoulder tore his gaze from the dirty metal bartop. He was ready to unleash his bad-tempered impatience on the intruder for messing up his brief moment of not wanting to fucking tear someone apart. The gray steel eyes set on him pulled him up short. They belonged to a tall, lean, muscled hard body of a woman wearing a black tank and tight leather pants. Her hard edges and rough stare made her a perfect match for this place. Not to mention his current state of mind.

"Am I gonna have a problem with you tonight?" she asked, her voice slightly accented and authoritative.

"Not unless you give me one," he grated back in a deep timbre, pushing his empty glass back towards the bartender without looking.

"You listen good, Hotshot, I run this place and I will not tolerate shit, you got that pretty boy?" she threatened. And for a split-second he knew she meant business. And not the 'I'm-a-bouncer-and-I-will-kick-you-out' sorta business, but in the 'I'm- _something_ -and-I-will-rip-you-to-shreds' kind.

Dean grinned.

"Maybe that's exactly what I want," he replied. The woman's stare tightened down on him and he knew he was being analyzed with those shrewd gray eyes.

She hummed in some form of acknowledgment to herself. "Interesting."

Dean glared at her hard, his hunter instincts and Hell-given talent told him that she was way far from human. The realization didn't affect him much. Besides, who was he to judge anymore?

"Relax, Hotshot, I got what you need." Her words butted into his thoughts.

"I doubt that very much," he replied with a fake sweet lift of his lips.

"Trust me, I always know what my customers want," she said with certainty. "And you'll be watched, be sure of that." Her cold gray eyes turned away and her hard body followed. Alone by the bar once again, his eyes followed her stiff form as it snaked effortlessly through the bump'n'grind.

Dean scanned the place with greater detail. With shrewd concentration, he watched, trying to figure out the things that existed here. Dead-centre of the club was the mass of skin and leather and chains, and whatever other scary garments that adorned the club-goers, wriggling on the dance floor. He looked past the throng of hormones and drugs to the VIP area at the back.

Talk about America's Most Wanted…

Three guys seated around a semi-circle booth that left no room for anything or anyone else. They were huge…like Sam on steroids huge. Dean wasn't sure what they were but they were sure-as-fuck _not_ human. As he was turning back to the bar, one lifted their head and zeroed in on him. Guy had dark hair, parted down the middle, hanging low over his temples, and a menacing goatee. The eyes really clinched that non-human status though; a light blue that seemed to have a fucking glow to them. Either that or Dean was beginning to hallucinate, along with all the other fuckballs of wrong that was surging through his body. Sure as shit that was no angel glow either. He didn't know what this guy was.

The dude meeting Dean's stare held it, and for a beat, there was a weird sense of familiarity, like they recognized something in each other. A camaraderie maybe? Or, perhaps, a shared sense of knowing what it is to be fucked up. And then the moment was over and he was tossing back another dose of liquid fire into his stomach.

With alcohol and need running the show, he was treading water between the rocky shoreline of demon desires and the smooth beach of a whiskey-induced coma. A flash of light in his mind brought back the memory of an alley, of Cas coming to him, of being possessed by something that wasn't Abaddon. He wished he could remember the feeling, the peace that he was sure he'd felt. He'd said as much, but now it was so past the horizon, no amount of wanting to be who he was would get him there.

A younger man came to sit beside him. Short black hair, a pierced lip and an attire that he appeared to have borrowed from the gray-eyed bouncer- _slash_ -manager. Dean turned back to get another drink when he felt a focused attention fixate on him. He turned to the twenty-something with searing impatience but said nothing.

"Xhex sent me for you," black-hair said in a weak voice.

The delivery, the offer, the timid and obviously submissive attitude were not what Dean zeroed in on. _No_. It was the exact shade of blue that was so goddamned similar. He scanned the crowd for her. Finding her by the VIP table talking to the men who looked like they could, _actually_ , bench-press a Honda Civic, she met his gaze and winked knowingly.

_How the ever-loving fuck?_

Dean turned back to the sub. As it all clicked into place, urgency fired through him with an unstoppable force. Abaddon's rewiring zapped to life—breakers on!—firing all sensors at once.

Dean grabbed the leather-cuffed wrist. "Come on," he commanded, shoving the young thing off the stool. Walking their path to the back of the bar, where things such as this obviously went down on a regular basis, he felt heat flare against his neck and back. Dean craned his neck around but saw only the crowd.

The invisibility didn't fool him.

"Enjoy the show," he whispered, wearing a dark grin curving the side of his mouth.

It was a bathroom for building-code purposes, he supposed. But it wasn't. The layout, the open areas and the fucking leather couches and dim lighting were all there for another purpose. As much as he wanted something different, something worse, he forced himself to jaw-clench his way through what he could realistically accept. He just hoped he stayed on the rails of his own twisted crazy-train. _And you'll be watched_ , he reminded himself. They fucking better. His gaze shifted around the room, noting the two decently hidden cameras. He winked.

Dean flipped the lock on the door and tried not to attack. "Dean, Dean…" he said lowly to himself. Rules were needed now. He knew that… He'd never done this with rules or restrictions—Abaddon did as she did: fucked, tortured, twisted, degraded—all without an ounce of care for the things or bodies she used to slate her fun. And now? Fuck… Dean didn't want permission, or an offer for some lame BDSM bull-shit. But, dammit, Abaddon wasn't here. And he was _not_ in Hell. Dean may not have been the man he once was, but his intelligence hadn't diminished. He knew what would get him killed or incarcerated, and at the moment, he didn't care for either option. If he couldn't have her as shackles, then he needed freedom. Standing mute, his thoughts braided together in a mix of confusion until he snapped and took action.

He stalked forward, grabbed the back of whoever's neck and bent him forward hard. The guys hands shot up to grab the edge of a sink for balance. There was a mirror above the counter. Could be good or bad, he thought, taking in the sight of himself towering over a bent body. We'll go with it.

Dean spoke in a clear, hard voice, "I don't know why she sent you, nor do I care. I promise you won't like this."

"It's what I like," the younger man replied.

Dean scoffed. "Say that when I'm done." The rough threatening words seemed to darken the room, but the sub offered no reaction to fuel Dean on. What a letdown.

Reaching up, he tore the black shirt, leaving bright red streaks where the fabric had bit into the skin. Next, he yanked down the leathers, seeing bared skin. Huh? Guy was hairless from ankles to ball-sac, and smooth as fucking satin. Very unexpected. It made him want to do some really sick things.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…Dean tried to think around the wicked cravings to what he knew he had to say.

"Rules: Don't fucking talk to me. I don't want any pleasured noises from you. Actually, you know what, if you could act like you hate this that would be best for everyone, I think. And if you fucking touch me, so help me God, you won't leave this room standing. Nod your head once for yes." The man nodded. "Good boy."

Dean's vision wavered in and out of focus. Raunchy shit, and most definitely illegal shit pounded through his skull in a splattering of images. Fucking bitch. Because of her he didn't think this would be enough. Can I even control myself, he wondered, wanting to reach out and start things up but momentarily terrified…or maybe… _excited_?

_Who the fuck am I? What am I?_

Dean grit his teeth and shook his head to stop the crazy. Not that it helped. He unzipped with shaking hands and pulled himself out, not wanting his pants down for two reasons: One, it was too nice, too soft—that skin on skin; Second, he enjoyed the sharp grating of his zipper against the sensitive flesh of his slowly growing erection.

Dean moved to the side and crouched down near the man's face, eyes away from Dean.

"Open your mouth," he instructed. The sub obeyed. There was something odd about the young guy's teeth, but with so many perverse images dancing around his skull, Dean didn't trust the reality of his own sight to pay it much attention.

Callously, he shoved four fingers deep into his mouth, right down towards the back of his throat, causing the guy to gag, but didn't back away. Pressing in deep and out, fingering all around the guy's mouth, Dean watched in fascination as he coated his fingers in saliva as he shoved them further down—dimly wondering how far he'd need to go to block the guys airway with his fist.

The man's eyes were screwed up tight, tears already in the corners from the strain. Dean liked to imagine it was pain. _Abaddon… My love… Are you proud of me?_

Dean withdrew his fingers, noting the odd pattern of teeth marks denting his skin, and moved back behind the bent-over body that he planned to use in order to ensure he didn't do anything worse. Don't colour outside the lines, he thought, grinning.

_Are you watching, Angel?_

Shaking his head, Dean used his dry hand to grip one cheek, pulling it to the side. He wasn't gentle; starting roughly with three slicked fingers—having to narrow them in and twist and push. One hard, aroused moan escaped. Enraged, Dean withdrew and smacked him on the ass with every ounce of strength he had. The guy nearly crashed into the sink but Dean yanked him back just in time. He couldn't fuck the guy if he was passed out with a concussion. Well, _he could_ , but it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying.

"You think you know what you're getting but you don't so follow the rules or I fucking won't," he threatened.

The man stilled, becoming complacent. Dean re-sheathed his three fingers, working in the pinkie as well, turning at the wrist to twist and go deeper until his thumb was pushing against the outside. The guy tried to shift away from the stretch, surely it was too much and too soon, and that set Dean off, instantly wanting to fuck hard and fast. The relentless need crowding around him. He removed his hand and shook, his head spinning. His whole body seemed to vibrate, urgently wanting things the way she'd given it to him. _This body's mine, Dean_ , she'd said countless times. Next to her idea of a Friday night, this was downright vanilla. He ground his molars roughly.

"Get out of my head!" he growled at her, hating her and missing her all in the same breath.

He grabbed at his own hair in frustration. The return of heat; a warning, flared at his back. Dean laughed. _Oh yes…we forgot about the audience_. Licking his lips, he winked towards the space where he felt Cas like a flame and grabbed himself, moving into place. Hmm, a meager coating of saliva wasn't much for lube, and surprisingly there were no way KY vending machines here. Abaddon's perversion of him teased another option; he didn't ask for permission.

By the time he pushed into the hot, stretched space, he was shaking and the sub was covered in Dean's spit and a lot of something else. Thank God for all those drinks, he thought. The fucked part was that the sub seemed to like it—not exactly what Dean had been going for. Judging by the heat blasting onto his back, he was pretty damn sure who _didn't_ like it. Did Cas not realize the threat of attack or disruption only ramped him up?

The young man's asshole gripped shamelessly around his cock, and Dean pounded through it. Hard and unforgiving, he abused that willing body as hard as he could, enjoying it only when he felt the man flinch from a flare of discomfort or pain, or even when his own zipper snagged himself. The violence of his thrusts became so jarring that he was forced to reach out and hold the guy in place. Otherwise, the sink would have landed the guy with a concussion after all.

No reaction means no fun, sweetheart, she'd always said.

Dean reached the crest of arousal a few times but couldn't get over that last hurdle. The anger and rage tore through him and he needed more. _What has she done to me?_ He needed it to be worse. It wasn't enough. All of it, sure, was depraved but no more than a kink he could've found on any goddamn porn site anyway. _This wasn't Hell!_ Frustration ripped an inhuman screech from him, and he dug his fingers into the slim hips, creating splotchy welts. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough! It wasn't—

"What did you do to me!?' he cried, shoving his cock in hard, shaking. The sound of his body smacking relentlessly into someone echoed across the room, but he could barely hear it over the voices in his head.

Dean bent forward and threw an arm around the younger man's throat, his inner elbow closing tight around the fragile windpipe. He wrenched them both backwards so they were upright. And now, he could see them together in the mirror. It was a shock to see the cruel lines of his own face this way. Everything seemed darker to him, their twisted bodies doused in an unnatural shadow. Pain began to override the arousal, and unless he got his release soon, there was no telling what he'd do. She was no longer in control…and yet she was.

Desperately needing to let go, Dean begged, "Tell me to stop." He rutted in deep and held himself inside, twitching, tightening his arm around the guy's throat. "Just tell me I'm hurting you, tell me to stop."

Trembling, a part of him truly wanted to stop. _Dean, baby, you're body's mine remember?_

Turning his head this way and that, Dean tried to avoid her voice. He ended up facing down and saw the young man's full, flushed red erection, sticking out proud from his curiously hairless crotch. _How was he hard?_ Dean knew there were people that got their rocks off on this, but fuck, he didn't want the arousal. It made him nauseous. Why should anyone be aroused by him? He was backwards, soured and rotten.

_Sulphuric_.

Heeding Dean's demands the man croaked out the words that he'd requested, "Please stop."

Despite the lackluster performance, Dean's hard-on responded, his eyes rolling back.

"Get out of me," the weakened voice said, straining with the pressure on his windpipe.

Energy rippled over Dean's back and neck, a dry heat resembling licks of flame like there were bones burning behind him in a grave. Cas was near enough to intervene, he had to be. Fuck, it was a wonder the angel hadn't already.

Dammit, he just needed the voices to stop! He needed his body to feel fucking normal again. The young man in front him pleaded once more.

"Get out?" Dean echoed the cry, pulling out to the tip and teasing his blunt head back in again, using his hand on himself to press his cock around the rim. Holding for a breath, he surprised them both by slamming forward, filling the guy with a thick, commanding presence. "I'm going to fuck you until you pass out." And he would. The black-haired young thing groaned, and even though Dean knew it was in pleasure, he pretended it wasn't. He pretended he was back in Hell, and Abaddon's black smoke filled all the hollowed spaces in his body. _Every. Single. One._

A few more breathless _no's_ faked for Dean's own level of fuckery and he was gone. He couldn't help but scream as the release pulsed—not from his pelvis but his whole goddamn body. And following it: A fucking blessed radiation of peace. Calculated and expected, just as she'd programmed. The moment's break from deranged thoughts, discomfort, and pain—was so, so welcomed. The relief like nothing on this earth.

In the mirror, he saw the man's eyes droop closed as the lack of oxygen rendered him unconscious from Dean's choke-hold. Dude had actually come, Dean noticed. It sickened him, turning his stomach. She'd trained him to enjoy the pain of things, never the pleasure. Making sure to keep the guy upright, Dean loosened his hold. And what a gentlemanly move was that? Not letting his sub's body crash to the floor. Give me a damn medal, he thought bitterly.

As the cold sunk in, prickling his skin, Dean realized how overheated he'd been feeling since he got back, a dry itchy heat.

Ready to face himself, he glanced up at the mirror, only to find soulless black eyes staring back.

"Nooo! Nononono… _Get out!"_ he screamed, clutching his head as Abaddon's voice purred inside his brain.

_I told you I'd never leave, baby. I'm here forever… Forever, Dean. Me and you. We were made for each other._

Dean scrambled away, dick hanging out, hands clapped over his ears. It happened in a split-second, with Cas becoming visible and solid to keep the other man from falling to the ground when Dean had let go.

"G-get me out of here… I need-I can't be here! It's how she gets in, Cas! Why did you let me do this?!" he yelled. "Why did you let me live!? I'm not… I'm not… _human_!" Dean screamed the last word.

The door to the room crashed open—despite it having been locked. Stalking into the room like a storm was the big guy with the iridescent eyes like Cas', except lighter and fiercer, moving swiftly towards him.

"You're not needed," Cas spoke harshly.

"If you knew how to take care of your boy, I wouldn't be." The man with a similar accent as the bouncer from before stopped less than a foot away, those vibrant eyes boring into Dean.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Cas glaring at the goateed-man. It was hard to tell whether the angel was pissed or worried over the big guy's bulldozer entrance.

Unnerved, Dean's eyes passed quickly around the room, avoiding the eyes of both men. It was darker even than before. But maybe only because his eyes were black now. Made sense. _He_ was black now; rot filling up the spaces where blood used to be. Dark in his gut, and in the centre of his chest. Even without her, she'd managed to twist him into one of them. The sense of wrongness raking through every limb and in every organ overrode his hold on reality.

She'd won…this body was well and truly hers. Dean needed to tear his skin off. It just had to go, he thought. Maybe if he ripped off the packaging, the insides would spill out and he could be fixed of this. If she'd taken him apart to break him, all he had to do was pull it all apart, degrease and rebuild. Like the Impala, he thought, gotta overhaul the engine.

Gotta start with the panels and the doors…

It was only as the larger, overpowering man, or whatever he was, grabbed Dean's wrists with unyielding strength did he realize he'd been literally trying to yank his skin off, only getting so far as to scratch long welts along his arm with his blunt nails.

"But the skin's gotta come off," he pleaded. It was no use, he was trapped. "I need to wash it all out from the inside," Dean whispered, though no one seemed to listen.

"Angel, clean the civilian and take him home, and make sure he's fed if ya feel me," the low voice directed towards Cas, who nodded and left. Dean was shaking. His head hurt and he wondered why until the man grabbed his face and shoulder, unleashing a threat onto him with a single look.

"Stop yelling!" the man barked at him.

Immediately, Dean went silent, as if a force separate from himself had taken over. The pain that had bloomed under his skull drained to a dull ache, and the twisted, restless feeling in his limbs muffled to a buzz. Standing stock still, mildly clear-headed, he realized he didn't want this. Any of this… Oh for the love of God, he didn't want to be this thing. What he'd just done? The young man… Fuck, he'd-he'd gone and soured him too. This wasn't right. _I'm not right._

_Oh God. Turn me back! Turn me back!_

"You're not a demon," goatee-man said with absolute conviction. But the eyes?

"Who the f-fuck are you, and why sh-should I care?" Dean argued, his fear making his words pitchy and broken.

"Name's V. I see the darkness in you, friend. But you're not all the way gone," he said. Dean had no idea why he still stood there—listening to some stranger. But for whatever reason he couldn't move. The man's lightly glowing eyes seemed to have transfixed him into some bizarre stasis.

"What are you?" Dean wondered, suspicion raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Nothing you need to worry about, hunter. Now look at me."

Without hesitation, Dean obeyed. His vision focusing the same as it had with Cas before—zeroing in on the pupil. Except this was way different. This was…

…

Dean blinked back into reality what could have been two seconds later or five hours later. Crazy as he was, there was no doubt in his mind he'd lost time. Nevertheless, Cas was back and watching the exchange with eager anticipation for whatever reason Dean couldn't figure out.

What the hell had happened?

"What did you see?" asked Cas.

"Just flashes, Angel. The glint of metal, strings or tight-wire, and snow—like a fucking blizzard, true? And him in the middle of it." V replied.

"That is not particularly helpful." Cas answered impatiently to the dominating presence in the room.

"They rarely are. And it's all the help from me that you're gonna get. I only intervened because I see myself in this human. This male who's been blackened by his past, turned into something he can't always control. He'll get through it because he has you, Angel. Do not forget that. And don't come here again." V released his hold on Dean and exited stage right.

Thought process evaded Dean the second the man was gone. Attention flowing into nothing more than a stare, his eyes glazed over as his brain seemed to blank-out. He didn't budge or react when Cas moved in front of him and tucked him back into his jeans, cleaned him up and focused on his eyes.

Not shifting his vacant stare to meet Cas', he said, "They were black, Cas," in a detached voice. There was an ache in his throat now, heavy and prominent as if he might start bawling any minute. Instead, his eyes remained curiously dry. It left a hollow sort of feeling in him.

"No they weren't," Cas stated, his tone soft. The attempt to comfort him couldn't reach down to where he'd ended up. Not where he'd fallen to. So far down the rabbit-hole.

Dean had no words, and no capacity to form sentences anyway. All over, from head to toe, he felt wrong; broken and damaged beyond repair. Cas began pulling him out the door, but he didn't want to walk back through the club. Even as nothing more than a blank sheet, this place had triggers that could set him aflame.

_I don't need no water…let this mother fucker buuuurn._

Feeling Dean's resistance, Cas flew them gone, taking the angelic shortcut. Once his feet were solid on the grass just beyond the bunker, Dean still couldn't open his mouth to say anything. His mind had become a void he'd retreated into. No memories or thoughts awaited him there, just an endless expanse of nothing. A lot like his recent stint in Heaven, except black. Like a fucking hole in space that he just kept getting sucked into.

Take me _down_ to Paradise City…where the grass is dead and the girls are bitchy. Dean trembled, a delirious giggle bubbling out of his throat.

/\/\/\

Dean shivered despite the warmth in the air that night, a crooked smile on his face that Castiel didn't care for the looks of. He held Dean by the forearm and guided him back into the bunker. Sam and Jody were at the table waiting, knowing that Cas had left when he'd realized Dean had vanished. They'd been gone for some time.

Overall, Castiel didn't know what to make of this night. He hadn't seen the other race in a long time. He'd nearly forgotten their existence and esoteric relation to God altogether. Of course, he'd known about Vishous; the Scribe Virgin's son, born of a male so harsh and terrible that his brutal personality was considered to some worse than Lucifer. What the male's own father had done to him made John Winchester's parenting look downright loving and well-balanced.

Dean's unravelling had been painful to watch but he'd been specifically told not to intervene. It was _their_ territory and they would control Dean's actions if it became necessary. It helped that V understood more than he did, and for that Castiel put significant weight into the male's opinion.

As Dean drank in silence for the beginning of the night, Castiel had reacquainted himself with what most angels considered to be a subspecies of humanity. Castiel wasn't sure he agreed with the assessment. A different species, yes, but despite their animalistic tendencies, they were keen and mostly honorable form his sporadic observation throughout history.

This valuation at first would seem odd, considering what they were.

_Vampires._ The real ones—not the distorted monsters created by Eve that Sam and Dean had hunted in the past.

_Earlier at Screamers…_

"Invisible or not Angel, I see you," Vishous said from beside his hidden form.

"I am not here for you or yours," Castiel muttered stoically, keeping a trained eye on Dean as the female made her approach; a warning that he was sure Dean would not take well.

"The male your charge?" asked Vishous.

"Yes." Cas breathed a deep sigh.

"He's gone down one damn dark hole, hasn't he?" The male sipped a clear drink.

"He was recently possessed by a very demented Knight of Hell, and now he is…"

"FUBAR?" V supplied with a deep laugh.

"I don't know what that means." Castiel turned away from his temporary companion.

"It means he's messed up so wrong you don't recognize him anymore," V clarified, his strong voice turning gentle, as if he understood. And based on what history Castiel knew of the Brothers and Vishous, perhaps the male did understand.

"Then yes. FUBAR is an apt description." Cas nodded, wishing some other characterization was better suited to this situation.

"The man needs to crack before you can glue him back together. You coddle him and he'll lose his shit. Feel me?"

Cas turned to the side, meeting the bright stare. "You suggest I should set him loose on society and let him become what she made of him?" he asked incredulously.

"Not at all. He needs to see himself and decide on his own not to be what she made. It's the only way he'll come out of this. Trust me, I know." The bitter edge of the old accent was drowned away with more alcohol. Castiel remembered being inebriated and had a pang of jealousy for the male's buzz.

"What does the seraph like to drink?" V asked, noting the object of his attention.

"Nothing."

"Suit yourself. But heed my words, Angel. Let'im break, it's the only option, true?" Vishous smiled and Castiel saw, briefly, the flash of non-human. A leather-gloved hand clapped him on the shoulder before it was gone.

…

Back in the present, Castiel wasn't sure what to do with Dean. The former hunter stood there frozen in front of them all, looking at no one. Castiel wasn't even entirely sure Dean knew where he was. Something had snapped after Vishous had peeked into his future. Or perhaps it was from hallucinating black eyes where there had been none. Maybe it was the entire night's events composited in Dean's mind, causing it to shut down.

"Dean?" Sam stared at his brother, waiting for a response that might not come.

Sam shifted his stare to Castiel, his brows lifted in a silent question. _I don't know,_ he mouthed back helplessly.

"I don't want this," Dean's thin words cracked into their tense bubble. It was shaky and distant as though he were speaking only to himself. Perhaps he was.

"I know, Dean." Castiel squeezed his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out," added Sam.

Dean's eyes finally lifted from the floor and settled on his brother. An emotion too quick to pin down flashed through him and his eyebrows slanted back in regret.

"I'm so sorry Sam." Dean's words were heavily pained.

"It's okay. It'll be fine," Sam reassured.

Jody didn't say a word and Castiel thought that was wise, the less conversation the better. They were on very thin ground. Like ice in the spring, their world might crack without warning.

Dean bobbed his head absently and turned out of Cas' reach. "I need to shower," he blandly stated, walking stiff in the direction of the hallway.

Castiel stared after him, the hard set of his shoulders and hands curled into fists at his sides. The second he was out of sight, Sam let out all the curiosity he had been reining in.

"What the hell, Cas!?"

"There was another… _incident_ ," Cas explained. It was sufficient enough. The details were a benefit to no one. He'd rather not know them himself if such a thing was even possible.

"How bad?"

"Bad enough. Though, for some reason, I think it did something to him. Dean-he hallucinated, panicked, and then became calm—or vacant, actually. I'm not sure what it means but I have it on good authority that it may have done him some good." Vishous had said he'd need to break, was that not what had happened? The possibility set hope building with each word that passed his lips.

"Good authority?" Sam echoed. Both he and Jody appeared intrigued but highly dubious.

"We ran into a race of non-humans that have been around since the beginning of humanity and my conversation with one, whose history I am familiar with, was enlightening."

"What, like monsters? You were chatting up monsters?" Sam raised a brow.

"You might see them as such. Most angels do. But like the boy with the demon blood"—Castiel paused to focus on Sam—"they are misunderstood; miscategorised. They live a separate existence. Angels do not interfere with them and they do not interfere with us or the plagues of humanity that we are involved in," he explained. It was an arduous history—the two sides. He'd always wondered why they'd never worked together. Mostly content to forget the other existed entirely.

"Good monsters, then?" Sam clarified and Castiel affirmatively tipped his head.

"There is way too much shit in this world," Jody chimed in. Both he and Sam nodded agreeably.

Sam opened his mouth to speak at the same time a shiver ran over Cas' skin. He held up a hand to pause the younger Winchester.

"Something's wrong." Cas turned his head to the side, listening more intently to the rushing sound. "Where's Crowley?" he asked with sudden intensity.

"In the dungeon. We, uh, gave him some uplifting movies to watch. And about eight boxes of Kleenex. He'll be okay on his own for the time being," Sam told him, the hint of an amused smile playing on his features.

Cas released a tired, resigned sigh. He felt as though he had an endless supply lately. The drama and the emotional pain had become its own special kind of torture.

"Dean." The name a succinct explanation before he stalked off towards the showers where he knew he would find Dean in some state or another.

Sam followed at his heels. They both walked into the steam-filled room and Cas could smell it immediately. They found Dean seated on the tiled floor with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up in front of him. He was unclothed under the hot spray, his arms stretched out and turned up to show off the red streaking down the inside of his forearms.

Shallow cuts were visible over the skin on both sides and Castiel felt an unchartered depth of sadness overtake him. Sam was struck silent behind him; watching, not sure what to do either. The blood oozed over the pale skin, mixing and diluting with water, turning it not pink but a dulled red, snaking down towards the drain.

Dean looked up at him with wild, crazy eyes, "I had to check, Cas."

Castiel stilled. "Check for what?"

"Dirt. Rust. I thought it would be darker, blacker. Shouldn't it be darker, Cas?" Dean's voice alarmed them more than the fact that he was huddled under the hot spray slicing himself. His words carried the eerie, baseless logic of insanity.

Cas knelt down in front of him, feeling the frown weigh heavy on his face. His pants and shirt soaked through in seconds. He gently placed his hands over the cut flesh, healing the minor wounds with a thought.

"It's a part of me. I won't be free of it. I know I'm all wrong, I feel it. I taste it." Dean ranted, words falling into a stream of incoherency. Dimly, Cas heard Sam intake a ragged breath from behind him.

Feeling inhumanly tired, Castiel rubbed a wet hand over his own eyes; the images that he'd seen lately dragged at his persistence.

"Dean, you are _not_ a demon. She is no longer a part of you, I promise. You are being haunted by the things she did and it is affecting you. Look me in the eye and tell me you understand this." Castiel articulated his words clearly, as precise as he could, holding Dean's forearms as he spoke.

After a few unsteady breaths, Dean lifted his fear-widened eyes, meeting first his brother's gaze at a weird angle, and then Castiel's.

"I can't do this, Cas." Dean shook his head rapidly back and forth, his voice weak.

The fear of the unknown future severely bothered Castiel in this moment. Would there ever be an end to this madness? Would it continue to get worse? Would Dean roller-coaster through the rest of his days, lashing out, doing horrible things, and then losing his mind completely?

"Dean, tell me you understand," he repeated, forcing his tone to be gentle and steady when all he wanted was to beg and plead, to lose himself to the panic he felt buried deep. "Tell me you heard what I said?"

Castiel managed to get a single nod out of him before Dean ruptured, the mangled soul wrenching deep within.

The first sob tore free with painful force. Dean snatched his arm back out of Cas' grasp, pulling it into his chest, clutching against his heart. The wretched sobs were loud, uncontrollable, and unlike anything he'd ever witnessed before.

Cas held steady in front of him, touching Dean's arm or his hand as he lost control, truly breaking down. The violence of it left Dean gasping, and wheezing for breath as if he were drowning and Castiel imagined that was probably how he felt. It was nearly too painful to watch.

At one point during the fit, Cas turned back to see how Sam was holding up. Silent tears trailed down the man's cheeks, eyes glued to the sight of his older sibling in a state of vulnerable hysteria.

After what felt like hours, the dragging pulls of breath and sharp sobs, the frantic clutching at his chest, all of it, quieted.

In the aftermath, Dean was worn down to near nothing, holding on by a mere thread. It was as if every visceral facet of him had drained like blood to the tiled floor and slipped into the sewage system.

Cas reached forward, wiping the man's face of water and tears. Dean followed the path of his hand with vacant detachment.

Twisting a loose fist in the air, Castiel shut off the rushing water, throwing the room into a strange silence; broken only by a few sniffles from behind him.

"Wh-what if I can't control it?" Dean whispered, his throat so raw his words crackled.

"You will," said Sam. Utterly certain. Castiel pivoted around to see the younger brother rubbing his fingers over his cheeks and below his nose. "Promise me you'll try, Dean." Sam held Dean's gaze, the desperation between them its own presence in the room.

Dean's mouth flinched into a frown, a tease of the almost return of tears before he clamped it down. "Okay," said Dean, sounding more present than he had in a long time. "Okay…" Reaching up, he wiped a shaking hand over his face, down his neck, and then rubbed circles into his chest. The skin, already so red from the shower, turned brighter.

"I need to sleep. _Cas_?" Dean outstretched his arm pointedly.

Understanding, he wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist. Castiel thumbed along the vein, relaxing his friend with a flow of hormones, drawing him into drowsiness as opposed to an abrupt cut-off of consciousness. Knocking him out that way wasn't how they should deal with this. Dean needed help healing his issues, not a bypass around them.

His blood-shot, green eyes vanished behind puffy eyelids as his body slumped towards the floor—the wet skin squeaking against the slick tiles. Sam passed Castiel a towel, which he then wrapped around Dean before picking him up.

It was a strange thing; to care for a grown man this way. To carry him and protect him, even from his own inner torments. Castiel wondered if the emotions he'd once felt, the strong pull of desire that he'd always experienced near the hunter, would ever return.

In Dean's room, he gently placed the limp body on the bed, covering him with blankets, and decided to seek further advice from Vishous.

The male's name, perfectly suited to him, didn't quite do him justice. Castiel was aware of his past, his reputation in their world. The angel, Lassiter, had been helping the Brotherhood—a group of large, strong males within their species, precisely bred for the sole purpose of defending the race against the evils their kind faced. Months and months ago, Castiel had run into Lassiter shortly after the Fall. The shunned angel kept off the radar, and rightly so. The other angels wouldn't take too kindly to him willingly assisting the other race, despite where the orders had come from.

"I need to seek answers," he said to Sam, striding across the room towards the front staircase. "I'll be back shortly."

Sam nodded, the weight of his head appeared heavier than normal. Castiel remembered the premonition and paused to ask about it. "Do wire-strings or a blizzard mean anything to you?" he asked pensively. The glint of metal was obvious enough. It had to be the Impala.

Sam scrunched his face. "Um, no. Why?"

"It may be important," he answered, deep in thought.

 


	17. Comfortably Numb

Things got better.

Depending on how you looked at it, he supposed. The night Dean broke down, with only a few hours left before dawn, Castiel left to find answers. But only after he'd made sure Dean was in an undisturbed sleep. The first visage of calm on his reddish, swollen features eased Castiel. As hard as it had been to watch Dean fall apart, he'd been grateful for it, praying to a quiet Father that it was a step forward, not to be setback.

Getting in touch with Vishous had been complicated. Going on angel radio was risky and he didn't want to out Lassiter in such a way. So he used Sam, getting his friend to pray to the fallen angel.

The prayer made it's way from Lassiter to Vishous, and a location and time were set for he and Vishous to meet. The place the vampire had chosen was a vast forest, miles from their respective locations—a dead zone of activity.

"I told you I wouldn't be involved in this." Vishous shook his head impatiently. That piercing light blue stare glowed in Cas' direction.

"I'm sorry for pressing, but I'm desperate for answers."

"I gave you what I could, Castiel. The only reason I even showed tonight is that Lassiter has vouched for you. Seems you're a favourite of Heaven's feathered population." V said, expressing mild distaste, evidently caring little for Heaven and its politics. Castiel didn't blame the male.

"Seeing as we have sealed the gates of Hell, I would think some appreciation would earn me something." Castiel played his cards, walking in an arc in front of the Brother.

"Don't get me wrong, Angel, we're grateful. But the sealing of Hell does nothing to stop the evil on our end," V explained.

"The Lessers?" Castiel's eyes narrowed. "As I understand, those undead, demon-adjacent beings have already met their reckoning with a prophecy realized in the form of Brian O'Neal."

While Castiel spoke, V extricated a small metal case and pulled out a rolled smoke; it smelled spicy, not the normal drugs that humans were privy to. V lit up and inhaled before answering. When he said the name of the prophesied individual, V irritably huffed, discomforted by the discussion of the Irish descendant.

"It shouldn't be his responsibility to finish our war." V spat, sucking back on the lit joint.

"You care for him."

"Give the Angel a prize," V quipped.

"Then you know how I feel."

"I don't know shit about you."

"Tell me, if your friend had been possessed. Forced into terrible things, things that darkened him beyond your worst nightmares, would you not do everything in your power to fix it? Would you not seek out everything and everyone that might help you get him back?" Painting this picture, Castiel watched V's reaction, noting a cringe that told him he was on the right track.

"Please," he begged, holding V's hardened stare.

"What do you want?" Vishous asked in a biting tone, inhaling in a long draught.

"What do I do? How do I acclimatize him back to some sort of normal?" Castiel ceased pacing and focused hard, waiting for an answer. Give me something, he prayed. The irony of an angel praying to a vampire was not lost on him.

V laughed in a bitter burst of sound, "The fuck you think I am?! Well-adjusted or some shit? You'd have better luck speaking to Z at this rate."

Cas stayed quiet, waiting longer. Maybe if he held out long enough, V would give in. The vampire was the son of a deity, the Sam Winchester of the Brotherhood. The smart one. This male had to have answers. Vishous dropped his gaze to the green at their feet. The tall grass swayed in the slow breeze, along with the rustle of trees nearby as the morning approached.

"I don't know, Angel. I've been around for centuries now and I still ain't over this shit…" At the end of his words, he gestured down at himself. Castiel knew the story. The male's own father had tried to castrate him—nearly succeeding. The horrific act coming about only after forcing V into battles, displays of dominance, awful actions coerced from him, against him. And still, his history was nothing compared to what Dean had been through. Really, it was the _other_ Brother, one of the twins that had a more similar experience. But Castiel wouldn't dare approach him. Lassiter had indicated, that under no circumstances was he to speak with Zsadist. The vampire was the most vile and unpredictable of them all. Finding a love and starting a family had pacified his wild nature to a degree, but still, Castiel had been given clear lines not to cross with the Brotherhood—and avoiding Zsadist was one of them.

"I understand," Castiel said with a deep breath. "I had hoped you could help, that you'd have some kind of guidance for me, but I am…on my own in this. His brother will be a great help, I'm sure, but I've never seen Dean this way. I've never seen anyone this way. I don't know if it's something he can come back from. Last night, after we left your establishment, he fell apart. I've never seen a human break that way before. Remorse and regret were there, I think, but he was nearly insane for a time, and I feel that we're nowhere near the end of this… What she did… I…." Castiel shrugged, the words no longer there. The weight of things to come had already compounded on top of the last few weeks' events. It all bore down to suffocate him.

V stepped forward, a heavy palm reaching over to land on his shoulder. A second later, it moved to frame Castiel's face. The gesture was filled with compassion that seemed to steal his breath. And then V said, "I fully believe, as I've said, that you and the others who love him are all he needs to get through this."

"You're certain?"

Laughing, V lightly patted his cheek and then dropped his arm. "What? You want some kind of warranty on my advice? You won't get it." Vishous shot him a crooked grin.

Sensing their conversation was over, Castiel extended his hand. "Thank you for meeting with me. I appreciate it. I know your kind and mine are not exactly on the best of terms."

Vishous clasped his hand with his own uncovered one. "We're not usually on any terms, Angel," V corrected, shaking his hand in a brusque jerk before letting go.

"Maybe that should change," he offered for consideration. The male stared at him with an unreadable expression for a solid minute.

"I like you. _Good luck to you and yours,_ " Vishous concluded in his kind's ancient language before he disappeared back to his own world.

…

Minutes later, Castiel stood at the foot of Dean's bed. Memory foam, apparently. Well, at this rate, if the bed didn't remember his shape, it never would. He watched the even rise and fall of Dean's chest. The man's breaths were deep and relaxed, his one arm laying stiff over his heart—like he were trying to hold himself together. His legs twisted together, one tucked under the other. Satisfied that Dean was in a dreamless, nightmare-free state, he left. Having no need or want for sleep, he wandered.

Castiel spent the last hour of crude darkness meandering the halls and searching out uncharted rooms of the bunker. He found three hidden passageways and made a mental note to inform Sam in case the younger Winchester didn't already know.

The following day, light broke across their part of the hemisphere with a struggle, pushing through the clouds with a valiant effort, and by eleven a.m., direct sunlight cascaded over the bunker. Not that there were any windows to let it inside, but Castiel could feel it through the thick walls. There was always something heavenly about the warmth of the sun, a divinity without agenda that he'd always been partial to.

Dean woke up quietly, moving out of his room in a stiff walk to the kitchen. He poured a coffee and went straight back to his room. He spoke to no one. The tight set of his features told Castiel how rough things would be for him. Regretfully, he had no words of advice to carry to his friend and decided, that at least for now, he'd give him some space.

What else could he offer?

The day passed without event. Blessedly without event, he thought. Dean never emerged of his room after his late morning kitchen pass-through.

At ten p.m. exactly, he prayed.

_"Cas…"_

A single utterance of his name, but he understood. Making his way down the hall, he pushed open the door and closed it behind him. Dean was curled on his side, the blankets over him, tightly pulled around his neck. He looked very small, so different than how Castiel had always seen him: normally larger than life.

Sitting on the bed, taking note of the untouched coffee from that morning, Castiel debated whether he should say anything at all. They were on unstable ground, the two of them. In the end, he put trust in V's words.

"One day you'll feel like yourself again," he told Dean, filling his words with a certainty he didn't necessarily feel.

Dean didn't look up at the sound of his voice, but mumbled a lifeless response, "Don't even remember what that was." The familiar voice was excessively raw; remnants from the night before.

A splintered pattern of tiny red veins were scattered through the whites of his eyes, an unappealing contrast to the once beautiful green. A green that was now dull; leached of everything that had once made this man so vibrant. Cas held his wrist, easing comfort into him, and melatonin.

As Dean's eyes slipped shut, Castiel let his desperate wishes escape into the silence of the room. "Please come back to me…"

/\/\/\

After that torturous night, a monotonous, stale existence settled over the bunker. The only pops of stimulation were a result of tension; everyone walking on eggshells, or so the saying goes.

Everyone _except_ Crowley, though the once King was mostly oblivious to the other dramas beyond his own. The former demon spent the majority of his time in the dungeon. No one forced him to stay there, nor was he locked in. The space had changed to accommodate its new resident, now furnished with a bed, and decked out with piles of books and movies. Crowley spent the majority of his time making lists upon lists of past acts he needed to repent for.

Once, he'd asked Castiel to listen to all his sins. After a few hours, his brain fried, Castiel had left, telling Crowley it would get better. And for the former King, it actually did get better.

As for Dean, weeks went by and nothing changed. Dean hardly left his room. He didn't speak to anyone except in very rare instances. Every now and then, he'd say strange things. Usually at night when Castiel would go in to help him sleep.

Following some regrettable trial and error, they came to the conclusion that Dean was entirely incapable of sleeping without aid. Not able to step away from the deviant train of his thoughts and twisted memories, his body seemed to be constantly wired and ready for action.

Sometimes Dean would utter words that were part of a memory. Sometimes he would threaten. On one recent occasion, he asked Cas to touch him, which, of course, he didn't. The rejection had Dean's expression hardening in a flash, darkening and taking him somewhere else, turning wild. That time, Castiel hadn't hesitated to put him under, not letting the man's darker side come to full awakening.

He avoided Dean's nightmares as best he could, but a few times he'd had to step in and call them to an end. It was the most unimaginable of things he'd ever seen. Even as an angel, he came close to releasing the contents of his stomach—which wouldn't have been much seeing as he didn't eat.

Into the latter part of October, over a month after their return from Hell, a small change shifted the tide of Dean's static recovery.

 


	18. Deliver Me from Evil

Forty-seven days of being trapped. And each one of them had been a fucking battle against insanity and a fight against the darkness that toiled in his veins.

Dean paced in his room. It was a rollercoaster. Some days were worse than others. He kept reminding himself over and over again what he shouldn't want or shouldn't do. He forced his mind to grasp the concept that he didn't want to revisit the memories of what he did to Cas…of what he did to various people, demons, and souls in Hell. _Really_ didn't want to recall the things that had been done to him.

Man, Abaddon had been thorough.

Every disgusting, perverted inkling of an activity that occurred to her, she had acted on. And fuck, did she ever have an imagination!

As the souls of his bare feet continued to wear against the concrete floor, Dean realized it was getting worse. The last couple days, his body had been whacking out. Straining and itching for a fight so bad it left him twitchy. But Dean wasn't stupid, he knew what it really wanted. And a fight was only the boarding pass for that fucking plane-ride. He didn't want to do what he'd done at that club, but thinking about it only made things worse, needier, clawing at him. With his hands doing the constant shake and rattle, he idly wondered if he'd ever be truly normal again. Probably not. All his nerve-endings and neurons had been trashed and torn-up, there was nothing normal left, how could there be?

Every single minute of every single day he had to fight not to do something horrific and wrong. Each breath was nothing but a tease to rob someone of their's. Each pounding of his heart made him want to overpower an unwilling body, to take from them whatever he wanted.

Instead of pulling himself back together over the last month and a half, he'd really just been in some bizarre suspended animation, holding himself as steady as possible. Waiting, and waiting until he couldn't take it anymore.

That day had come 'a knocking.

Not even a week ago he'd asked Cas to touch him. The memory didn't sit well. The angel had grimaced at his words…even more so as they turned dirty while Dean kept on chattering away like a raving madman. And his propositions had certainly not been Penthouse dirty, but more like: Hello twenty-five to life dirty.

Dean hated himself for saying those things, but at this rate, it was a drop in the bucket. In rare, dull moments, he tried to spend time thinking about the dream. Surely, the best dream of his life. The one that Cas had been with him in; the only time he could remember being happy and excited for something as simple as a kiss. The marvel of the feeling mocked him now.

Stupidly, he'd hoped the incessant replay of his vanilla-laced previous life's desires would readjust him to normalcy. Fat chance at that. Instead, his thoughts took those memories and fucked them right up. It got to the point that he almost didn't remember what exactly had happened. So he stopped thinking about it altogether, trying to preserve the last good thing in the black dirty hole that had become his brain.

Didn't matter now anyhow. He'd gone and died, been taken for a spin by Abaddon, and then became… _this_. The potential love connection he and Cas had found themselves falling towards was drowned out by his wrongness and addictive perversions. One force snuffing out the other.

What dumbass idiot had said love conquers all? Nah man. Love is nothing compared to depravity and wickedness. Sin was tempting for reasons.

Maybe he could hop a plane to war-ridden parts of the world and use his own special fucked-up-ness to wreak chaos on the ones who chose to be wrong. Like those fuckers he'd overheard Sam talking about that had kidnapped a bunch of teenage women for the sake of wanting to go to school. Dean daydreamed of what he could do with those men. It was a bloody daydream…with particular fetishes. He scraped his nails over his scalp. They needed to be cut, but he wasn't so much for personal hygiene these days. The last time he'd taken a shower…

Dean shuddered, dropping the memory.

Startling him from his festering thoughts, his door opened. Cas stepped into his room, and Dean wondered why he'd come. Cas didn't normally visit him unless absolutely necessary or Dean called him for his regular dose of angel sleep-aid. My own personal bottle of Nyquil.

"You're struggling," Cas noted.

Dean leaned against the dresser, barely lifting his shoulders. "I'm fine." _Pfft._ What a load of BS.

"No, you're not. You're white-knuckling your way through each and every day. Maybe you should attempt to actually do things. Like eat. Or shower. You can't rely on me forever to keep you alive. What would be the point?" Cas said with acerbity. The irritated expression he wore dropped quickly into a frown, regret shrinking his frame, realizing the impact of his words.

"That came out wrong." The angel stepped towards him. Dean stiffened, readying himself for the unknown.

He felt caged. Cas noticed.

"Dean, I would never hurt you. And I won't let you hurt anyone else, I promise," he cautioned, raising his hands as he stepped closer.

"I know."

"Please go eat something," Cas pleaded with him. The intensity of the angel's request had Dean wondering if he was really the only one white-knuckling through this shit.

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't lie to me."

"I don't want to eat."

"I don't care."

They faced off, staring the other down. Finally, Cas rubbed a hand over his mouth. "You promised you would try. You're not trying. You're existing and nothing more."

Dean didn't really have answer to that. It was true. This was all he could manage.

"You've seen the shit that's going on up here." Dean pointed at his head. "How the fuck do you expect me to function beyond anything other than breathing!? Do you even know how hard it is to do that?" he yelled with a flare of anger. Christ he wanted to fight…he wanted to fuck and fight at the same time. He wanted blood on his hands, on—

"Dean… _please_." Cas swallowed thick enough that Dean saw the shift of his Adam's apple.

The ruined part of his brain wondered what biting that bobbing body part would be like. The clear-headed part of him inhaled sharply, breathing deep, dragging in oxygen. It was life, right? Oxygen pumping into his veins, it was a neutral substance—or it should be. Osmosis'ing life into his cells or some shit. The prospect of leaving his room and facing people was terrifying. A part of him worried he might regret it, and for that reason only did he decide he would. Dean wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Dipping his chin a fraction, Dean relented. The devil in him grinned towards potential opportunities for destruction. The rest of him trembled with anxiety.

Cas gave him a half smile of relief. And what do ya know? It sort of helped.

The next two weeks Dean added two things to his routine: He ate, and he showered.

Yay me.

/\/\/\

Sam sat at the kitchen table, his head resting on his linked fingers below his chin. His eyes followed Dean's movements, noting the way his clothes hung loose on his frame. Pressing the toaster lever, Dean put down two measly pieces of bread, then stared at the wall until they popped a minute or so later. The scratchy sound of a knife scraping across the bread seemed loud in the quiet room. After putting the peanut butter lid back on, Dean took his plate and left without a word.

Castiel stood by the sink, a steaming mug in hand.

"This is better?" Sam asked after Dean was long gone.

"It's something." Cas took a sip. "How's Crowley?" the angel asked, changing the subject. The guy had been so focused on Dean, he tended to forget about the former demon residing with them.

"Not bad actually. Jody talks to him a lot. More than me anyway. But I go in there sometimes. The guy actually did groceries last week, getting nothing but organic." Which, he obviously found quite amusing. "On the whole, I think he seems determined, really striving to be a better person." Sam smiled, glad that some good had come out of things.

"He was acting weird this morning." Jody said as she entered, tagging in to the conversation.

"Who? Crowley?" Sam lowered his hands and watched her come sit beside him to pick off his half-eaten plate.

"Yeah," she mumbled with a mouthful. "He seemed really grounded. I'd even go as far to say well-adjusted." She raised her eyebrows, tiling her head to smile at Sam.

"One down, one to go?" Sam glanced over at Cas. The hopeful tease didn't bring out the reaction he'd been hoping for. Instead, Cas grimaced.

And that was how Tuesday went for them.

Not surprisingly, a few days later, they lost one of their occupants. Jody called up to Sam, and when he'd found her down in the dungeon, she passed him a note.

_"Dearest Winchesters (and by extension Castiel) and the lovely Ms. Mills,_

_You have been exceptional hosts, putting up with my sodding issues. I've imposed enough and there are things that I need to do for me._

_Oh Moose, stow the tears! I'm not planning to off myself. It just so happens that I want to contribute, I want to have purpose. I want to become something. I never became something when I was human. I was a wretched, awful human being and it led to a bloody awful existence._

_Time to sow oats, or mend fences, or what-have-you. I hope you all find what your hearts of hearts are looking for._

_-C."_

Putting the note down, Sam turned to Jody. "Huh."

"I kind of saw it coming," she announced to him, and Cas, who'd just stepped into the room.

"Yeah, I suppose. I sort of just assumed he'd squat here indefinitely." Still, he had it in him to truly hope that the former demon found his own place in the world—wherever that might be.

Maybe they would cross paths again.

For now, they'd have to rearrange the room back into a dungeon, or any monsters they locked up would get an unfortunate false impression of their interrogation tactics. " _Tell me everything you know! Or so help me I'm playing Bridget Jones Diary again!"_

/\/\/\

Later that week, a few hours after dinner, Sam and Jody decided to go out to see a movie. Castiel suspected they needed to get away, especially with Crowley recently departed. They'd stuck around in the hopes that something would change and Sam would want to be here for his brother if needed, but the heavy air that hung around the bunker, filling the spaces with suffocating tightness, had caused them to cave. _Needing_ to get away. He didn't blame them. In fact, he was happy they were taking time for themselves. Castiel's only source of happiness lately had been seeing the two together and in love. It was a first for Castiel; to witness the blossoming of devotion and affection between two people. It was beautiful.

Checking the clock, Castiel knew he would be called into Dean's room soon and he spent the time in between in front of Sam's laptop. The younger Winchester had set up a string of movies for him to watch. Lord of the Rings was playing now. He was only forty minutes into the first movie, but so far he was enjoying it.

Seconds later, his blue eyes snapped up at the soft sound of socked feet over the concrete floor. He was in what he still referred to as "his" room, the one that had been given to him before any of this started, back when he'd been half-human, half-abomination with a stolen grace.

Dean entered without a word. He crossed the room silently and settled onto the other half of the bed, resting his eyes on the laptop screen. Dean either didn't notice, or didn't care that Cas was staring at him openly.

This is new.

It was a significantly long movie. Castiel spent part of the time turned to the side, watching the reflection of the images in Dean's eyes. The next movie began automatically.

During the scene where the smaller group going after the Hobbits found their way into the eerie woods, Dean spoke, startling him from the tense silence.

"I should've kissed you."

Cas went still, forcing himself to maintain a forward stare, afraid of what might happen if he faced Dean at that moment. The older Winchester must have heard his breathing stutter, because he continued.

"When you were…in my head…I should have-I mean, I know you didn't want to in the dream. But I regret that now…because it's gone." Dean promptly got up and left.

Castiel stared at the closed door with his mouth parted so some air might seep in.

" _You fell,"_ said Aragorn, looking astonished from the screen.

" _Through fire and water,"_ came Gandalf's firm response.

Cas' eyes flickered down to his lap, seeing his hands tightly linked together. It was one thing to assume a dream would never transform into reality, it was an entirely different beast for that assumption to be confirmed.

Tears welled in each eye, and as he blinked them to clear his vision, his angelic sense caught the scent of fresh rain hitting the concrete rooftop. For the first time, he understood why the dying sometimes wished to forget their lives.

/\/\/\

Days later, Dean was sitting outside in the rain, his ass parked on the front steps beyond the door. He knew it was emo as fuck to do so, but he didn't exactly give a shit, now did he? The rain pelted him, and he kind of liked it. It wasn't a soft drizzle from the clouds above, more like God was pissing on him after ten cans of beer. He had to snort. Maybe you're just as filthy as she is, he thought to the sky.

Dean sneered up at the Heavens, squinted against the rainfall hitting his eyes. "And thanks by the way," he uttered sarcastically. "Really enjoyed the cluster-fuck you sent me back to! Fucking asshole."

On his way back through the bunker, he littered the hallways with puddles of water. He didn't care. It's not like anyone was going to say anything. Cas would probably mojo it gone anyway. The bathroom was his trajectory, with all intentions to get out of the cold wet clothes and stand under a hot spray for however long it took to dull him into a drowsy state.

But then it happened.

It could have been anything: The squidge of water in his shoes, squirting between his toes; the heavy, sopping clothes hanging on him; the cold making his bones hurt. Who knew what the trigger was. The simple passing of time? Or maybe, he'd pissed Chuck off just enough with his hollers to the heavens. Didn't matter, really.

Without warning, Dean dropped to his knees just shy of the bathroom door and screamed as pain shredded through him. It was excruciating. Worsened still by the contrast of the placid state that had defined his existence the last several weeks. That bearable vibration that been his constant companion since day one was now a rage of fire screaming in his veins.

Shit, there was _pain_. Agony, even. But this? This was MOTHERFUCKING _PAIN_.

Evidently, he hadn't stopped screaming, because within seconds, Cas was running towards him. The guy looked warped, as if the angel were running sideways along the walls. Dean's head swam, struggling to stay afloat. As if his consciousness were a fucking buoy. A delirious laugh cracked out of him. _They allllllll float!_

The second Cas was within reach, Dean clocked him hard on the cheekbone. His fist landed solid on that beautiful face, the crunch such a wonderful sound. The angel barely registered the violence, his head torqueing to the side before slowly twisting back to Dean.

Ooh, Angel is angry…

Sam's frantic voice tickled his ears. In almost the same moment, he felt big, hard hands on his shoulders pressing him down. Running his mouth, Dean cursed at both of them, saying the worst things he could think of. All sorts of fucked up shit flew out from between his lips without thought or a second's hesitation. Between bits of vulgarity, he laughed, sometimes screaming, sometimes everything all at once—or so it seemed.

There were a lot of voices in his head. Hers, and his, Cas', his brothers'—all of it ripping around in there. Were they all him? It was so loud. Why wasn't Cas knocking him out? Rough hands and arms restrained him as he lashed out, and for the love of God it felt _goooood._ For the first time in a while, he was blissfully hard. Rock-hard. The kind of hard that begged for Abaddon's fingernails dragging down the veined skin of his cock. Dean craved her idea of a Friday night.

Twisting upwards, lip curling back, Dean prayed. _Touch me,_ he thought an inch from Cas' face, glaring with the raging heat inside of him. The itch was back and someone had better scratch it.

God, how long had it taken? A little over two months, maybe? Sam and Cas both struggled to keep him still, talking at him but he didn't listen. Hmmm, Jody should join the party too. Two little play things dancing in the hallway…

Those wicked thoughts betrayed him, flowing freely though the open prayer into Cas' conscious mind. Dean should've hung up the phone. The angel examined him through the haze of red. The blue of his eyes appeared purple. It was pretty, Dean thought. He could see the fires of Hell in those eyes.

The roughness of their movements trying to hold him down, and the lack of Cas' willingness to give him the easy way out all headed in one direction. Which was fucking crazy-town. Growling, Dean tried to bite, his teeth the only thing he had control over.

Narrowly, he missed the soft skin of Cas' neck that he'd been aiming for.

Fuck, he was rabid. A hunger had lit off somewhere deep, and it demanded to be fed. The addiction she'd created in him had been starved for far too long.

And then, all at once, the yelling and screaming and shouting went quiet in his head. Though he was sure it was all still there, the silence only a nifty trick of his demented mind. The world went fuzzy.

Cas said something that lifted the weight from his shoulders. Sam was gone, then. For whatever reason, Dean stayed put, knees aching on the floor and he thought—what a familiar position.

In a daze, he watched Castiel's skin turn a sickly shade of green. There was conflict written across his features, an internal struggle that Dean wondered the outcome of. Those blue eyes eventually turned to steel, his gaze hardening with a decision made. Would Cas kill him now?

"What will you do with me?" Dean asked, eager for the guy to do something at this point. He would take anything. Make it stop, feed it, let it thrive or kill me. But good god, take away the reins…

"Dean, I don't want to do this," said Cas. The blue eyes were apologetic, but his voice was hard. The way he moved towards Dean, his countenance stiff, it was obvious how much the angel was trying to detach from the moment, to forget that they had been something different to each other once.

Suddenly the words clicked for him and Dean froze. "Do what?"

Cas jerked back, surprised all the same. It lasted only a second before determination came over the angel again and he reached out, his mouth in a flat, grim line.

It took a single beat of his heart for the trajectory of Cas' hand to make sense. And when it did, Dean started to struggle earnestly. Which was absolutely absurd! Had he not asked for exactly this? Why was he freaking out? The caged animal reaction was the last thing he expected from his manic struggle. It didn't make any goddamned sense, but regardless, he was fucking terrified.

White, ashen skin, heart-racing _terrified_.

"Don't touch me," Dean snapped, tearing free of Cas' loosening hold. The angel squinted, moving back a few feet.

"What's wrong? Dean…I-I don't know what to do." Exasperated, Cas extended his arms out in questioning desperation.

_Hello! Dumbass_ —Is this not what you were asking for? Dean wondered to himself.

The pain passed as quick as it had come and Dean was left with an ache in his throat, and a burning in his eyes. _Jesus Christ…_ The flood started and he frantically wiped at his eyes like it could quell the flow. Since that night after the club, he hadn't shed a single tear.

"What the fuck is wrong with me!?" he shouted into the hallway. Cas stepped towards him and Dean scrambled back, watching him with wide, leaky eyes.

"Dean?" Cas was at a loss, clearly. Welcome to the club, he thought _._

"Fuck, man, put me down or somethin'," Dean grumbled through choking sobs that wouldn't stop. And here you have it ladies and gents, Niagara Falls, running down my fucking face.

Cas ushered a hand out. "Dean, go to your room. _Please_ ," he requested politely. Oddly, Dean felt like a dog. A bad dog; told to go to his room. The orders were easy to follow.

Though it took him a couple tries to get off the floor. But when he was upright, he went.

Inside his room he stood obediently, waiting for some kind of divine wrath. Streaks of tears flowed over his face and he gave up trying to stop it. Dean didn't even bother to wipe the shit off. Salt was good for your skin right? Maybe he'd have some nice youthful glow after all this crap.

"Lie down." Cas gestured to the bed.

Even though he was still strangely afraid, Dean did as he was told. A part of him enjoyed the forced directives.

_Lead me not unto temptation, but deliver me from evil._

Dean settled on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Every vital function on high alert. He heard Cas move around the room. The bed dipped at his left, Cas laid out beside him. No doubt his racing heart could be heard.

"I asked you once if you trusted me. Do you still?" Castiel asked him.

_Yes._ I think...

Cas turned over to face him, an arm extending out. Dean tracked its progress like the thing was a damn snake. He couldn't move for the fear that had taken hold. The arm curled under his neck. Part of him wanted to scream.

But then, unexpectedly, nothing happened. Okay, it wasn't so bad. For fucks' sake, he had no clue why he was reacting this way. Relax, dude, it's just Cas!

Crap. The other arm… Fuck, there were two of those? The second limb moved towards him and arched across his stomach to the far side of his body. Then there was pulling.

He panicked.

"What are you doing?" he asked, finding his voice again, noting how fucking scared he sounded. Shit, what am I, five?

"Please trust me," Cas said softly, pulling his rigid body.

Dean let himself be dragged towards the angel across the middle of the bed. He rolled awkwardly with the motion, ending up partly on his side and a little on his stomach. Cas' arms were wrapped around him, his body pulled tight against the warm length of the angel. Dean tensed, uncertain about what he might do, of what Cas might do. A slew of images emerged inside his mind but despite the taunt of them, the reality did not follow suit.

It took a good five or ten minutes for Dean to realize he was simply being held. Not restrained or about to be forced into anything like his mind nudged at him. Telling him that he should hurt Cas before Cas hurt him. It was fucked, actually, the stuff the voices in his head tried to push onto him. Dean sucked back a rickety breath. This is supposed to be comfort. Breathe in, breathe out. _Fuck_. Again, again, Dean. Inhale…exhale. Repeat. Repeat…

Save for the forced expansion of his lungs Dean kept every muscle frozen, to let the heat seep into his bones. The warmth made him realize how incredibly cold he actually was. But then he remembered he'd been outside in the cold rain. Not that it showed now; his clothes miraculously dry. Dean's arms were tucked up against his own chest, pressing against Cas' ribs, his chin tucked down into the groove where Cas' shoulder met his chest.

Voices, mostly Abaddon's, still rang through his thoughts, testing him, teasing him, trying to get a rise out of him no doubt. He'd never tried harder to ignore them before. A flare-up of discomfort or pain would rip through him, but it was like a strike of lightning: there and gone in the same second, causing a twitch but nothing more.

/\/\/\

After a long, long while, Dean eventually fell asleep by his side. It was late in the day by now. Castiel wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been in this position but he wasn't planning to move for anything less than a second apocalypse.

Even though Dean was fast asleep, his body was anything but lax, straining in a defensive posture, awkwardly stiff against Castiel's safe enclosure. Though, it was likely the proximity that kept him stiff. Dean's inner struggle for comfort against the fear from touch had saddened Castiel unlike anything else.

On a positive note, it was the first time Dean had managed to fall asleep without aid since he'd been back. It was fitful, and it probably wouldn't last very long but Cas relished it anyway.

 


	19. Sam's Hope

Christmas was less than a month away and Sam wanted to bring life back into their lives. He woke up on a Monday morning, still in the early hours before seven. As it was no doubt dark outside, he lay in bed and reminisced over the last month. He and Jody had gone on a couple hunts, even taking a weekend trip to Sioux Falls so she could visit the station. He remembered the day she'd decided not to go back to her job. He still felt some guilt from that decision, no matter how many times she'd assured him that it was her choice. The world, with its vampires, and rougarous, and zombies, and ghouls, and all the other shit, had shifted her sense of purpose, or so she'd said. Sam remembered sighing heavily; he had never wanted to be someone's reason for a change so huge as to leave their career. She'd kissed him and said he shouldn't be so arrogant. Jody was stubborn and strong, and she somehow managed to convince him that her choices were her own. But despite that, he still felt responsible.

Hunting with her had slowly begun to solidify his acceptance of her staying. It was great to be out hunting again, especially with someone he both loved and trusted…just like it had been with Dean, he thought sadly.

They were free of demons now, but the other monsters were all still out there. Going after them gave Sam a distraction, a measure of purpose that had fallen away during the in-between time after their return from Hell. He'd tried to track down Crowley and ask if he would be interested in helping—his past would certainly give him an edge up. And maybe the hunting lifestyle would help lay down his guilt. Unfortunately, Crowley hid well, and they found nothing. No trace of where he might've gone at all. Something told Sam it wouldn't be the end though. They would run into him again.

A small female arm flopped carelessly across Sam's stomach, reaching out blindly in sleep, subconsciously sensing Sam was about to get up.

He leaned over, pulling her arm away and placed it on the bed, still warm from his body. He kissed her mouth causing her to flinch as she slept. Sam smiled and brushed the hair out of her face. It was getting long again, not as long as his, but long enough that he'd had to clear her face of it when things got heated between them.

Walking down the hall after closing his bedroom door softly, he ended up in the kitchen where Cas had beat him to the punch and was making coffee and getting out Sam's breakfast food.

They'd acquired their own special routine. Since Cas didn't sleep, he would always get the morning started by setting up the coffee, taking out eggs and veggies, even cutting them and getting out plates and utensils, pans and the like. The angel never actually cooked, because they'd quickly discovered he wasn't the greatest at it. Especially when he was distracted with his own thoughts. Regardless, Sam appreciated the set up. The three of them had become a weird family over the last few months. It was nice. He only wished Dean were a part of it.

"You're up early today," Cas noted cheerfully, moving to let Sam take control of breakfast.

"Yeah…I um… Well, I kind of want to do some Christmas shopping." He smiled at his friend. Cas grinned back with reservation, happy but distant.

"How is he?" Sam dropped butter into the pan, gathered the chopped veggies for the omelet.

"He's trying… Still very quiet." Cas watched as Sam cracked three eggs into a bowl and stirred them, adding a little milk. "It's better." Cas turned to the coffee pot for a refill. "D'you think?"

Sam hesitated, facing Cas as he replied, "Yeah, Cas, he is…better." And then he paused. "…On the surface," Sam qualified before emptying the egg mixture into the pan.

Shit _,_ on the surface? Even that was debatable, he thought. His older brother, even with the added calories of friggin' toast and PB, was still kind of…withering; wasting away from the man he used to be—both in personality and sheer size.

Castiel didn't respond, opting to drink scalding liquid instead. It wasn't often they talked about Dean. Not because they didn't want to or because they didn't care, but simply put because there wasn't a whole lot to say.

Sam left after breakfast, going straight to the only outdoor equipment store in the city. There were a few things that he knew Jody had been eyeing. It wasn't a new cell phone or a dress, or some insanely expensive leather name-brand purse. Nope. Jody wanted her own arsenal of hunting supplies. He was in love with the perfect woman. Kind of funny though, he thought, he'd always pictured himself settling down with someone outside of the hunting world. Someone innocent and soft.

And now here he was, about to buy a crossbow for the woman sleeping naked in his bed. He had a hunter he knew that made insane arrows, specific for hunting all sorts of things, and he was gonna get some of those as well.

Moving through the connected hardware store, Sam debated picking up decorations. In the end he caved and went for it. Getting a box of lights, a cheap tube of red and silver ornaments, and stopping at the local grocery store for one of the trees cut and trussed outside.

Cas and Dean were hard to buy for. Dean especially, for obvious reasons. Ultimately, he couldn't decide, and figured he had time to think about it more over the next little while.

It was late afternoon before he got back, and there was a refreshing crispness in the air that he enjoyed as he walked from the car to the front door. As he made his way through the bunker, he noticed Dean and Cas were in Cas' room watching a movie. It was a fairly recent addition to Dean's daily routine. Sam knew that Cas waited eagerly for those times, something about them made him hopeful-looking. The guy hid it well but you don't live with someone for months after knowing them for years and not pick up on a few things.

Sam stashed his horde of stuff in one of the many rooms, locking the door and pocketing the key. The tree stayed outside for now because he'd forgotten to get a stand for it. He found Jody in the library, head bent over a book. He quietly snuck up behind her.

"Hey sexy."

She jumped at the sound of his voice in her ear, immediately turning and smacking him as he laughed. Sam wrapped his arms around her upper body, enclosing her shoulders from behind. He pressed his cheek against hers.

"And where were you?" she asked.

"Hmm…just out," he replied slyly.

"Uh-huh." He felt her grin against his face. "I know what you were doing," she said, reaching up to hold onto his forearms. "It's okay to be excited for Christmas, Sam," her tone slipped from teasing to serious. Man, it had to be hard for her with everything she'd lost.

"I don't want to push the holiday on you. I know it can't be easy, but I…" Turning in towards her, he kissed beside her ear, "I love you…and I'm _happy_." There was an unmistakeable guilty tone that accompanied his words. Finding happiness in a relatively dark place would give anyone that trepidation over his or her feelings.

"I love you too and I _am_ happy, Sam. Never think I'm not, alright? I'll always miss my family—that'll never change. But you've given me something I never thought I'd have again: A full life, a purpose. And, well, _you_..." Jody had risen out of her seat as she'd spoke, and now she leaned towards him in a familiar embrace.

Sam stared down into her, into the warmth of her eyes; a wonderful brown that beamed up at him. He arched down low and captured her mouth, opening into a deep kiss without pause. After a satisfying forty seconds or so, he pulled back, giving her neck and his back a break.

"What were you reading?" he asked, his hand holding her waist.

" _Eeh_ , nothing much. I found an interesting book about the history of Heaven and Hell and all that. Caught my eye." She shrugged.

"Speaking of…" Sam began, irritation building in his posture. "Cas still won't talk to me about that," he told her.

"About fixing Heaven?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm grateful that Metatron is dead, and Gadreel too, of course. But Heaven's gates are still closed to everyone who dies and Cas keeps telling me that there's nothing we can do, but he won't say anything more. I've done all the research I can, but so far it all seems tied to Metatron's spell… And clearly, his death didn't fix a damn thing." Sam explained, beginning to pace around unhappily.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she offered.

It might help, he debated. It was worth a shot at least.

"Sure. Why not. I know there's something he's not telling me. But, it's Cas, and I think if he knew how to fix Heaven so that it was open for business…he would." Sam knew Cas had been praying to God. He'd overheard him a few times now; whenever Cas thought he was alone. But these prayers were all about sorrow and Sam always ducked out of earshot to give him necessary privacy.

"I can't figure out why, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with Dean," Sam edged out in a tight voice. It wasn't helpful. In fact, it worried Sam more that Dean might be tied into the functionality of Heaven. God, he wanted Dean back so bad. The light-weight ghost that traversed the halls was not his brother…

 


	20. The Small Things

December tenth was quick to come around. The day started like any other, cool and crisp. A bit of chill snaked through the hallways of the bunker. Sam was warm in bed with Jody. Though, they were _not_ asleep. Castiel smiled as he walked past the closed door, hearing laughter and…noises that were decidedly _not_ laughter.

It was the small things, he realized, as he worked in the kitchen to start the day. A movement, a _touch_ … Something so small and, yet, still so astounding. Like when he'd seen Dean's pinkie move nearly four months ago. In the middle of the night just passed, he'd been in bed with Dean. Not the way he was starting to want again, but in a silent presence of support. Dean was particular ever since that first time Cas had held him. In a silent prayer, Dean asked for it each night. Sometimes he'd backtrack and move away, not allowing touch between them. But even those nights, Cas would stay until Dean was asleep.

Last night had been a touching night, so Cas had laid out his arms and let Dean rest against his side, his head on a pillow pulled down over Cas' shoulder. He'd been sure that Dean was asleep, with his arms curled into his chest, so it had surprised him when Dean moved one arm, a loose fist dropping down to rest between Dean's stomach and Cas' hip. In the shyest of movements, Dean opened his fist and slipped two fingers under Cas' t-shirt. Actually, Dean's t-shirt since he'd borrowed it after Sam had lost it one day on him, teasingly of course, but legitimately a little vexed that Castiel had been wearing the same thing every day. After that, he'd begun stealing Dean's clothes fairly regularly.

Looking into Dean's thoughts had been a bad idea. The ex-hunter was warring with himself and it wasn't pretty, but there was a strength of will throughout and Castiel knew how difficult such a small thing would be. By morning, Dean's full hand was laid on top of his abdomen, a fist-full of t-shirt in his grasp.

Castiel found a bag full of oranges on the counter in the kitchen and decided to squeeze them all into juice for everyone.

/\/\/\

"So get this, Cas made orange juice this morning," said Sam in lighthearted amusement as he climbed back into bed with Jody, the incredible woman still glowing from the two orgasms that he'd given her earlier. Accepting the newspaper and coffee, she stared at him, one brow raised up in a question. Settling into the bed, Sam planted the laptop on his thighs and began scrolling for new hunts.

"Freshly squeezed?" she asked.

Sam chuckled. "Yup. And he used every single orange from the bag."

The two grinned at each other.

Later that day, another thing happened that none of them would have predicted. Except this time, it was a little more shocking that Cas squeezing some fruit.

Sam had tracked down a possible job and Jody was in the garage packing the car for their imminent departure. Castiel was off having another secret meeting with the ancient being he maintained was no more a monster than Sam was. Sam wasn't keen on this new alliance with what Cas called "the Brotherhood." It fucking sounded ominous to Sam. His trust of the angel was the only thing keeping his mouth shut about it. Besides, other hunters had tried to kill Sam for being monster-adjacent, filled with demon blood, but he had still been good. For the most part, so Sam let it slide.

In the midst of putting both his and some of Jody's clothes into a large gym bag, Dean walked into his room. It wasn't a first, but it was rare enough that it stunned him.

"Dean." He turned to see his brother looking flighty. "Everything okay? You need something?" he asked, a bit too eager, zipping up the large section and then the sides.

Drawing his nails up to his mouth, Dean started to chew them as he briskly set up a good pace from one end of the room to the other. Sam narrowed his attention at the shift of Dean's demeanour. His brother had two settings these days: Zombie-mode and fidgety. The latter usually resulted in a pretty serious freak-out, or Cas having to drug him out. Sam tensed, going on alert.

"Can we talk?" asked Dean, his eyes flitting around the room, never resting on one spot for longer than a second.

"About?"

"Um…I think…I think I need…someone to…uh. _Shit_ —This isn't easy." Dean was breathing hard, rubbing a hand over his face incessantly, hard enough even that it turned his skin red.

"You want to talk to me?" Sam's brows cinched together.

"Y-yeah." Dean stared at the floor, his hands in tight fists by his sides.

"Uh, sure… Okay." Sam sat on the bad. "Wanna sit?" he asked nervously.

"No, no…um, I'm good." Dean bobbed his head and started chewing his lip into a swollen lump.

Sam sat patiently, trying not to study his brother's behaviour too noticeably. Whatever Dean was about to say, Sam braced for it, knowing it would likely be bad. But someone needed to bear witness to whatever Dean felt the need to get out.

The pacing started up again. As Dean moved, his hands would gesture randomly as if he were speaking, though he wasn't. Sam started to wonder if he'd finally cracked.

"She was thorough." Dean's voice shook. A thick, loud swallow followed his opener. "And…uh…imaginative."

Sam nodded once for him to continue.

"It wasn't only souls, ya know." Dean turned to face the closed door. "People… _real_ people. She brought real people. A lot of them. And-and-and sometimes, she, uh…never mind.

"When they—the demons I mean—did…things," Dean stopped again, inhaling hard and shaking his head, reaching up to grip a handful of his longish hair. "From inside me she made it all wrong…you know? I can't f-function anymore. She…she took every-everything that was good and made it bad. She took pleasure and made it pain, all just… _whooooop!"_ Dean flung his arm descriptively in the air in a wide arc. The green eyes Sam knew better than his own were a shade of crazy. It reminded him of Dean under the hot spray of the shower room, arms cut up, spewing insanity about being dirty inside.

Sam stayed completely silent, rigid as steel cable.

"Uh, yeah, so, Cas said maybe I, uh, should talk to-to someone." Dean looked right at him. A part of him wondered why Dean didn't simply talk to Cas, but the other part was grateful that Dean trusted him enough to open up.

"Dean, look, I'm your brother, I know you're…struggling, but I think Cas is right, man, I think maybe talking will help. I would've gone to you if you wanted before now… It's just, we didn't want to push before, ya know." Sam added carefully.

"You mean you didn't want me to go fucking nuts. Smart move." Dean pegged him with a hard glare, some of that darkness seeping through.

"That was part of it," Sam admitted. "How do you want to do this?" Wrong choice of words.

The sinister gleam that was unleashed on him was twisted. He prayed that Dean wouldn't say what was on his mind in that moment. After a pause, Dean blinked the expression away.

"I can't" —Dean hit his forehead with the heel of his palm— "get. It. To. _Stop_." Each word punctuated with another dull thud.

Sam sucked back a steadying breath. "Can I ask what the worst part of it is?"

"Everything."

"No, I mean." Sam wiped the sweat off his palms onto his jeans. "Be specific about it."

Dean laughed and sighed. "You did not just ask that."

"You wanted to talk. Besides, I don't need, like, graphic descriptions; I mean the tone, the direction?"

Sam had no idea how to pull from Dean the right reactions or information. He wasn't a fucking psychiatrist! He really shouldn't be doing this but it's not like they could send Dean to Dr. Phil. Hopefully he won't make anything worse.

Dean moved to the door. "She…her…her voice… _always_ her damn voice…urges me to do things, or ask for things. It's so fucked up. My skin crawls…but in a good way. Fuck? Maybe in a bad way? I don't know anymore. And it hurts...fuck, like someone's poured acid into my veins. But, then, uh, s-sometimes… Never mind." Dean cleared his throat and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Never mind what? What are you skipping over?"

"Nothing." Dean swallowed, stepping backwards, pressing his back to the door.

Sam thought he might take off, done with this experiment of trying to talk. "Don't run off, this is good," he praised his brother.

Twitching from the approval, Dean resumed chewing his lips again, switching between the top and bottom impatiently. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing Dean with this many quirks.

"I _want_ to do things…" The _but_ hovered in the air. "But lately…with Cas," Dean stared up and off to the side, sighing, and then the words flew out. "I freaked out when I thought he was gonna touch me. I freaked over what I might do to him, God, what I've done" —Dean visibly shivered now— "but, uh, I sort of panicked too. That was new."

The laugh that came out of Dean was nervous. Abruptly, he dropped down to his haunches for no apparent reason. "Soooo, so, so, so fucked up, Sam," mumbled Dean, wearing a wry grin as he rubbed at his face.

Though he registered the words being said, it was the constant motion than Sam noticed most. A thought occurred to him. It might be something—some way to help. He didn't know jack shit about this stuff, no matter how many books he'd read, but Dean was riding the edge, and Sam was willing to try anything.

As he opened his mouth to offer the suggestion that had come to him, Dean's face popped out from behind his hands, still squatting, his butt against his heels. He fixed Sam with an uncomfortable look, something severely wrong passing through him in that moment. Fuck, Sam wished he could've killed Abaddon for his brother.

"Cas was strike one in taking me apart." Dean's words flowed now without hesitation, as if he were a completely different person. "And the ideas just kept on comin'. And-and then there was you. There was you, Sam. She was thorough, like I said."

Sam recoiled at the implication. He _really_ didn't want to know. Even though it wouldn't have actually been him in Dean's corrupted recollection of Hell, it was still really awful to think about. Not to mention extremely disgusting.

"You were—"

"—Dean _,_ I'm gonna stop you right there," Sam interjected. "I have an idea." He stood up and walked over to his brother crouched towards the floor. Barely making contact, he tapped his shoulder. "Come with me."

Walking behind him instead of at his side, Dean followed him down the hall, down the stairs two levels into the earth, down another long hallway, and finally into one of the rooms that he and Cas had discovered. One that he and Dean had never managed to get to. Especially since a lot of these doors had keys and finding all of them had taken a long-ass time.

His older brother glanced around the revealed room and then turned to Sam with confusion written all over his face. "You want me to beef up or something? This supposed to help me?" he asked incredulously.

Sam half-shrugged. "You're fidgety, and tense, and maybe this will help. A lot of what's driving you nuts is how your body feels, right? That's why you needed Cas to help you sleep before. Maybe this will help." Sam gestured to the room full of training equipment, weight machines, dumbbells, black mats. It was a fully-loaded gym. Old equipment of course, but it still worked. Sam decided not to mention that Dean could stand to gain some weight back. No hunting and a meager diet had taken its toll.

Dean surveyed the space, looked back to Sam, and then back to the room. "I'm not a gym kinda guy," Dean said delicately. Sam nearly broke his own face from the smile that took over. It was the first Dean-like thing he'd said in what felt like forever.

Sam joyously slapped a hand on Dean's back—ignoring the shudder that rocked Dean's frame. "Make an exception."

Dean exhaled slow, nodding once. He took two steps forward and halted, he angled his head to the side. "Don't tell Cas about anything we talk about. _Ever_. I'm serious."

"I won't. I promise."

/\/\/\

Dean squared off at the gym. The solid support of Sam at his back. _I can do this._ He shoved the turmoil of his brain into a far corner, dulling the craze to a lower volume so he could focus on nothing but lifting heavy shit.

Might not be so terrible.

And really, he _had_ been feeling a modicum of _something_ in the _realm_ of better. Sure, he was always a little uncomfortable but it was only truly bad if someone went to touch him unexpectedly. Not that it ever happened that often, but when it did his blood would run cold and he struggled between baseless fear that they would do things to him or that he would lose control and seek the type of release that she'd trained him to want.

A few weeks ago he'd tried to jack-off in some really stupid notion that it might help. It had been an utter disaster. First, he'd had to think of genuinely fucking, messed-up shit to get hard at all and the second he even gave the command to his hand to grab himself he lost the hard-on that had taken him nearly twenty minutes to get up. And that just wasn't the kind of thing Viagra could fix.

He gave up on that whole trainwreck since then. Truth was, he didn't really want to touch it anyway. Fucking thing didn't deserve it.

Christmas was coming up, he thought, as he made his way into the room. Dean quickly catalogued all the equipment to his memory, deciding which ones would make him look the least like a meathead. Maybe he should be feeling something that the season of one famous chubby, red-covered dude was on its way. Or feel something…at all. But he didn't. Unless you counted the fear and the itch. But considering a feeling was meant to pass, and these never seemed to, Dean decided they were more a fixed part of his status quo.

Brushing his hair back, Dean sat down at the end of the bench press. There were weights already on it. He'd lost some heft lately. Okay, maybe a lot of heft, but could probably still hold his own with what was on there. Just to check though, he looked back at the door and saw that Sam had left. Part of him was grateful that his baby brother wasn't there to see how weak he'd become. And not just physically…

Dean laid back and placed his hands on the bar, gripping it firm. In that moment, he recalled the feel of Cas' skin under his fingertips from the night just passed; it was a soft memory, in glaring contrast to everything else. Focusing on that precise, detailed memory, Dean pushed the bar up.

/\/\/\

In a small town just east of South Dakota, a young man walked out of a sports bar heading home early to hang out with his girlfriend—as promised. He didn't notice the two figures following him. It was a short walk to his two-storey home on Sheridan Avenue and he took it at a leisurely pace, enjoying the crisp night air—not cold enough to be uncomfortable.

A scuffle drew his attention sharply around. Rounding on the ball of his foot, he stared back towards Fourth Street, but saw nothing. It took several minutes to calm his nerves before he turned his back on suspicion and continued home. He hugged his soon-to-be wife harder than usual, feeling for some reason that he was excessively grateful to be there.

/\/\/\

Crowley stared down at the hacked vampires, heads still rolling with the slope of the roadway. "Get used to the new King fellas: Papa's got a brand new bag," he sang, swinging the long blade.

 


	21. External Pressures

"I know you're lying," she said, aiming shrewd eyes at the stiff body across the kitchen table. An impenetrable blue gaze met Jody's briefly before looking down at the strawberries in a stainless steel bowl. Cas grabbed one and bit it, leaving the green stem in his fingertips.

Berries were his new addiction. She argued to Sam that Cas trying all these new foods was simply his way to pass the time and weed out the pressing insanity of boredom.

When the angel refocused on her, his stare was cold and impassive. "For the last time, I am _not_ lying. I'm simply choosing not to provide useless information," he responded in a controlled voice.

No wonder Sam hadn't gotten far. Jody had seen that look on a lot of suspects in her day. He was stone-walling and there would be no budging those iron-clad lips. The best she could do was plead with him.

"Cas, how could any information about restoring Heaven be useless?"

"Please drop it," he asked kindly, turning away.

"There are people suffering. Trapped in some in-between place—"

Cas snapped back to her, cutting off her words, "—Do you think I'm unaware of their suffering? _I_ am the only one with the power to hear their cries, their confusion. _I_ am the one to bear the weight knowing that nothing can be done." Castiel paused, seething with anger that she hadn't seen on him before; though this could easily have been severe despair. " _Nothing_ ," he reiterated harshly.

There wasn't much that drove Cas to elicit this degree of emotion and it was usually a result of one man. Jody huffed as it dawned on her that Sam had been right on the money.

"It has to do with Dean somehow, doesn't it?" The effect was immediate, nothing more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but they both knew it gave him away.

"If nothing can be done, then why does it matter if you tell us or not?" Pulled in by the conversation, Jody leaned forward on the table. "What harm is that knowledge, Cas?"

Grinding his molars, Cas inhaled deeply. "Opening up that door would have cataclysmic repercussions to such an end that it would serve to destroy any possibility of ever fixing Heaven," he said icily.

Bingo.

"So…there _is_ a possibility?" Jody angled her head and waited, her stare narrowing on her target. Cas' jaw clenched and she could've sworn he was a breath away from losing his shit on her.

"No. There isn't. Please drop it."

"Cas—"

 _Whoosh_!

Out of nowhere, Cas was towering over her, having zapped out of his chair. Jody stared up at him, his features harsh and unapologetic. She'd never seen him this way towards a friend before. A firm hand slammed down on the table and he stared hard into her eyes. "Perhaps I'm not being clear enough: Leave it the _fuck_ alone."

And then he was gone.

"Shit."

Jody sucked back some air and attempted to steady her rampant heartbeat. Cas had never scared her before. At least, not directly. She knew she'd been pushing—hell it was what she was good at. Sam had warned her that Cas was touchy about the subject, but clearly she had no idea what she'd be getting into when she'd agreed to ask Cas about the whole Heaven thing.

Well, at least one nugget came out of that uncomfortable experience. There _was_ a possibility. And, heck, that was better than what they had before. As a plus, she'd gotten to hear Cas say fuck. Pretty sure she'd never heard that before. Too bad it'd been spat at her.

She gave herself props though. At least now she had something to tell Sam. The man who effectively made her a cougar, more or less, was in the basement computer room with his cell attached to his ear, with a quirky, red-head on the other end. Jody wasn't the least bit jealous though. Mainly because she trusted Sam, but also cause Charlie was all about the ladies. And as much as Sam had the beautiful hair of a Goddess, he also had the most gorgeous body of any man that she'd ever seen. And Christ, were things proportional.

She laughed to herself and reached for the bowl of forgotten strawberries. It was ridiculous how much she had come to love that man. With hair longer than her own, and a heart the size of a Mack truck. Jody had never met anyone so genuinely considerate of other people; it was truly one of his best qualities.

Falling for Sam had been easy and natural. It had felt like slipping into a warm tub where the heat surrounds you, all your muscles relax, and you just go: _Ahhhhhhh_. Even though they were both shattered bits of themselves, somehow, when they came together, they fit into the other's broken hollow spots so perfectly. She didn't want to go so far as to quote Jerry McGuire or anything…but that was about as accurate as it got. Two broken peas in windowless, warded bunker, she thought with a chuckle and shook her head.

Sam made her feel alive; he made her feel beautiful and sexy—even though she was nearing middle-age. Jody did her best to be the support that Sam needed in return.

Especially now.

For the last week, Dean had gone in to speak to his brother every single day. It was nearly unbelievable considering how Dean had been in the beginning. God, that had broken her heart; the damage in him so extreme she'd honestly wondered how he'd managed to make it this far. In their sessions, the music would come on, loud music of course. And for anywhere between ten minutes and just under an hour, they would stay shut in Sam's room (well, hers too). Sam never said a word about what they talked about, but there had been a couple days where he looked more haunted than when he'd thought Dean was dead. Those days he'd distance himself from her and Jody had learned not to be offended by it.

Christmas was five days away. With that thought on her mind, she sort of wished she had chosen to wait another week before attempting interrogation of the in-house angel. Talk about pissing off the tree-topper...

/\/\/\

_It's dusty; thick sand soaking the air in the deserted testing site. He's on his knees, a flame of red hair whipping above. Dean glares up at her as the world shakes around them. Her fingernails dig into his scalp, sinking deep enough that blood wells up and he can feel it soak into his hair._

_Her voice thunders inside his skull, her red lips moving above him. Christ he wants to fuck that mouth bloody. Rip her teeth out one at a time._

" _You and me lover…" she croons, enticing him. He snarls at her:_ Bring it on, bitch.

_The earth continues to tremble, jolting him where he's kneeled in the dirt. The filth is everywhere, under his nails, in the crevices at the corners of his eyes, his nose, sticking to the inside of his mouth. He tries to brush it off, but it builds and cakes into layers. The shaking turns violent. The two of them are switching; swapping positions in fast succession. Each blink is a change of power: Her standing over him, her kneeling, him kneeling, his fist in her hair, her biting nails digging into his skin, his hand gripping her chin hard, his shirt being torn open, his jeans being undone. Abaddon's sinister gaze settles on him from her forced position on the ground. Dean shoves himself in her mouth, but then again, she isn't stopping him. He grabs her hair and pulls it like a fucking handle. A tangled clump comes out in his grasp. And then more. Her red lips turn gray. He fucks past them and the friction causes the skin to flake off like burnt paper._

_The skin on her face crumples into a thousand lines, the pinkish hue fading into a colourless crosshatch. Dean glances down and sees his own skin draining of colour. She's flaking away, but so is he. Both his hands have disintegrated; floating away in the wind in pieces. He's screaming, screaming, screaming until it stops, until his throat his gone too._

…

"F _uuck,_ " Dean cursed, out of breath, shaking as he jolted up into a sitting position in his bed. He was sweating profusely, a slick layer of greasy perspiration on nearly every inch of his skin. The fucking sheets were soaked with it. His heart thrummed fast and heavy inside his chest and it left him gasping for air. Instead of managing a steady flow of oxygen, he looked over to find concerned blue eyes trained on him—it was the only thing he knew to help calm him down.

Ever since the incident in the hallway, Cas had taken to sleeping beside him. Not that the angel actually slept ever. Sometimes he pretended to, probably for Dean's sake. Or maybe, Dean wondered, Cas just needed to close his eyes sometimes. No one had any misconceptions about what was going on regarding him and Cas sharing a bed. It was so far from what sharing a bed usually implied that there had never been a need to correct anyone.

Dean still shook from the vivid feel of the dream. The sensation of flaking away into nothing an all-too-real analogy for his state of being: Thin and cracked.

The thought of leaving the room held no appeal, but neither did lying back down to try and catch some zzz's.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Three forty-six," Cas responded immediately, as if he'd been waiting for the question.

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes and beard, stopped, and held it up in front of his face. It was trembling. But it was solid.

"Fuck." Exhaling hard, Dean dropped his hand to the bed. The sheets and his skin became dry. Thanks to the angel safety-blanket a mere foot away.

A warm touch closed around his wrist and he relaxed instantaneously. His tired body sagged against the headboard.

"Yes?" Cas checked before going further. Dean closed his eyes and gave the okay, feeling weak and pathetic. It had been months. He should be better than this. But he wasn't. As the familiar feeling of Angel Heroin weaved through his muscles, veins, and skin, he wondered if that angel hated him now.

Dean wondered why he stayed at all.

/\/\/\

As Dean fell into a deep sleep, his head lilting to the side at an uncomfortable angle, Cas wanted to answer his thoughts with: …Because I believe in you, or …because I have faith, or …because you deserve my loyalty. But truthfully, he stayed because Dean was everything to him. No other reason bore the truth as much as that.

Castiel continued to hold Dean's wrist. He stroked along the line of tendons, stopping between the two on the far side to feel the familiar pulse. It pumped in slow beats, tapping against his finger. He counted each beat and for some reason it calmed him.

Drifting into a trance, Cas' memory flipped back to earlier that morning. Getting interrogated by Jody Mills wasn't something he'd been prepared for. Shrugging Sam off had been easy, but on the other hand, he'd had more practice with Sam. Jody, however, was shrewd and keen. He cursed himself for giving any indication that there was even a possibility of fixing heaven. There wasn't.

Cas frowned. Regardless, he should not have been so cruel.

Turning his head to the side, he surveyed the man in bed beside him, still collapsed awkwardly against the headboard. It was useless to do so, but in these moments he asked his own mind why these things happened. As an angel, should he not have an answer? Would having an answer make it any less painful? Swallowing back his thoughts, Castiel let go of his hold to reach up with both hands and pull Dean gently back down into the bed. A grimace dominated Dean's features in sleep and Castiel wished he could rub the lines out with his fingers.

Reaching over, he reattached himself to Dean's wrist and continued to follow the pulse of blood under his skin.

/\/\/\

Sam had found the perfect gift. He was sure of it. It was Christmas Eve and he couldn't help but be a little excited. The air in the bunker was still pretty stifling and interactions between everyone a tad rocky—maybe more than a tad if he was being honest. Of course Cas had made that worse by being a dick to Jody the week before. She'd brushed it off in her normal way, having dealt with worse in her career. Sam, however, didn't quite share her easy-going nature on that one. It was probably one of the first times he'd really ever told Cas off. It was all very 'he-man, no-touch-my-woman' kind of thing that wasn't usually Sam's deal but he'd been unable to stop the cave-man reaction.

Cas had fervently apologized, sincerely feeling bad for acting the way he had. Sensing an opportunity, Sam had opened his mouth to ask Cas about Heaven, but got no further than a syllable before the look on the angel's face stopped him short. In the interest of ensuring he lived another five minutes, he'd immediately shut his yap.

That was the last time they'd talked about Heaven, and it would be a long time before it would come up again.

It was somewhere around three in the afternoon. Jody was off wrapping Sam's gift—whatever it was. Though, based on their recent conversations he had a feeling it was a new computer. Naturally, he wanted to protest such an extravagant gift, but also didn't want to ruin the element of surprise she was clearly aiming for. And fair enough, Sam's computer had seen better days. What had Charlie said the last time they spoke? _If you don't get rid of that thing soon I will throw it off a building—Don't think I won't, Sam Winchester!_ If it had been just he and Dean, and things had been as they'd been before, they two of them likely would've stolen the next laptop. Shit was expensive, and though they weren't so bad off now that they had a place to stay in that required zilch in payments, they didn't exactly have paying jobs either.

As for the other residents of the bunker, Cas was MIA, which really meant he was meeting with Vishous again. And Dean? Sam checked the time on his phone. Yup, Dean was in the gym.

Man, what a change. His older brother had become meticulous. Disciplined to such a degree in his daily routine that their father, the Marine, would've been proud. The flip side was that any deviation from that routine threw everything into chaos.

Whatever. At least it was better than before, Sam reasoned.

Dean woke up at nine every morning. For breakfast, he ate toast with peanut butter or two over-hard eggs with toast on the side. Then he would go down to the gym and do cardio. After that he'd take a shower. That usually got him to about eleven. And then, he'd sometimes find his way to Sam's room for a talk. These talks happened either late morning, or late afternoon.

This always had a set pattern as well. Dean sat with his back against the door, facing down between his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his shins. Sam sat on the bed. Music _had_ to be on _and_ set to a certain acceptable decibel level (which varied depending on the song). If it were too low, Dean would stop talking and scratch the back of his head and eye the iPod dock as if the thing would respond to his stare alone. Sam had learned to catch these tips and acted as necessary.

Dean spoke low and didn't face him unless he was…disturbed or provoked. Sam tried to avoid those reactions. In fact, he had to strain to hear anything at all. And even then, sometimes Dean didn't make a whole lot of sense. Other times, the confessions were so detailed that Sam debated the idea of keeping a vomit bucket in his room. Fuck, some days he debated switching rooms altogether. The stuff that got said here should not be in the same vicinity of the place where he and Jody shared a bed. Even though it irked him, he wouldn't dare disrupt whatever it was that he and Dean had going.

When Dean reached a sufficient quota for ejecting horrors, he would get up and leave without a word. Sam hardly said anything at all during these horrific sessions. Dean would talk and Sam was there to listen. That was it. He would let his ears, his brain, and a part of his own sanity be assaulted by things so disturbing that he was sure no one else could bear it. Thankfully, Sam had the bene's of well-padded resume for dealing with really fucked up shit.

Number one on the experience list? How about a year with Satan? Strangely, even _that_ , was not as grotesque as some of the things Dean had said. Of course, Lucifer tortured in specific ways, and while physical harm was a common theme, physical degradation and manipulation hadn't been on the menu. True to his background, he was a bratty, annoying torturer really. Effective, but not as long-term damaging as Abaddon using Dean's body the way she had.

It had only been two weeks of this, but Sam knew that there were things Dean was purposely leaving out. And when he skipped over something, he would sort of curl into himself. It killed Sam to see his brother that way. Not to mention his reactions if anyone touched him unexpectedly. Even Cas had been given strict boundaries on that front. It was a teeter-totter of zero to sixty.

Sam recalled the incident three days ago when he'd opened his door and accidentally bumped into Dean on the way to the gym. The shoulder thump was met immediately by Dean grabbing his torso and throwing him hard against the concrete-block wall. Hard enough that the knock to his head had given him a minor concussion Cas healed later on. Dean had taken on a wicked gleam, eyes roaming over him as if he'd been a blank canvas…or something else. Burning stomach acid had risen in his throat. Dean breathed heavy, fuming hot air into his face, and then shoved him away, practically sending him onto his ass.

After that, Dean had spent three hours in the gym. By the time he'd resurfaced, he'd looked sickly, his skin pasty and in stark contrast to the thick beard that now dominated his face. The next day everything had reset like clockwork.

Then there were the _other_ reactions to touch. The ones that left Sam feeling a whole different kind of sickness. Watching Dean flinch with a countenance of baseless naked terror all but destroyed Sam each and every time. Like he said, zero to sixty, and Sam hated both reactions—but the latter was always, _always_ worse.

After their late morning, one-sided, fucked-up sessions of Dr. Phil: Hell Version, Dean would eat lunch, go work on the cars, or go back down to the gym. If he'd forgone a morning talk, then it would be just before five that he would darken Sam's doorway. Then Dean would eat dinner. And even that was weird. Every single night since he'd started eating again, Dean would make chicken and rice. Plain.

Every. Single. Fucking. Night.

Sam didn't understand it. His brother varied breakfast and lunch (to some degree), but never dinner. Sometimes he wondered whether Dean might legitimately be crazy, instead of simply...damaged. But he didn't know. Odd, little quirks all over the place now, that Sam had no explanation for.

After dinner, Dean and Cas would watch movies. At ten p.m. on the nose, Dean would go to bed.

_And around and around we go!_

Discussion of jobs or hunts was unequivocally off the table. The only interaction Dean had with Jody was if they passed each other in the hall and Dean would nod his head to her shyly, stepping as far away in the limited space as possible. Sam knew it saddened her—the way he acted; like getting too close would taint her with his self-perceived evil.

Sam scratched over his head, running long fingers through longer tresses. He took a breath to reset and tried to focus on Christmas. Dean was aware of it, he knew that. Sam, Cas, and Jody had discussed what they should do. Sam, being privy to certain truths, told them that a group celebration of Christmas and all its trappings would be way too much for the guy. Cas argued that a dinner, at least, should be fine. So they'd agreed on dinner.

/\/\/\

It was six in the evening and Cas waited in his room, never Dean's, for the man in question to come in for movie time. Movie choice was always, without argument, chosen by Sam. Which made sense, since the younger brother would be best at avoiding triggers.

Tonight was a movie called Love Actually. Castiel had given Sam a questioning look. Even _he_ knew it was a romantic movie. Sam shrugged and said: "There's no violence and not really any sex." Then Sam had added, "Besides, it's a Christmas movie."

Falling in love had no doubt made the younger Winchester hopeful and joyous. Castiel used to find his constant troubled nature amusing, but realized that the description no longer applied.

As Castiel finished setting up the computer, his scheduled visitor showed up.

Dean sat on the bed, placing his hands precisely in his lap. A British man's voice started the movie, a monologue on displays of affection, love, and how it can overrule the bad. Castiel wanted to shake Sam—just hoist his big body into the air and jostle him a little bit. Castiel risked a peek at Dean from the corner of his eye and saw only a blank face, devoid of any reaction whatsoever.

At one of the flashes on the screen showing a countdown to Christmas, he figured there was no time like the present.

"Dean, I wanted to talk to you about Christmas," he began carefully.

Without turning, Dean spoke. "What about it?"

"We want to have a dinner tomorrow, the four of us—"

Dean groaned and clacked the space bar on the computer to pause the screen sitting between them. "What would be the point? I'm just gonna sit there with my mouth shut anyway."

"We want you there."

"You don't even eat," Dean argued, scratching at his beard uneasily.

"I do. I simply don't care for a lot of things. If I don't _have_ to eat, why would I eat things I don't like?" he countered.

Dean snorted. "I'll just ruin dinner."

"No you won't." When no retort came, he pressed on. "Please Dean… I want you there beside me. I've never experienced the Christmas thing the way humans do. It wouldn't be complete without you."

Dean met his eyes. And he kept looking...stared without blinking, actually. Cas wasn't sure how long Dean spent reading his face, it felt like quite a while.

"Okay." Dean tapped the spacebar and the movie continued.

/\/\/\

That night, Dean tossed and turned. It wasn't the result of childlike excitement at the prospect of hooves on the roof that sleep evaded him. _No_. He'd worried his stomach into knots over the possibility of ruining everyone's day. He hated the sensation of not being in control. Every minute of his life these days was mapped out in precise detail. A formal dinner, for Christmas no less, went against that structured dynamic he'd set up for himself.

Cas lay quietly beside him, waiting to see if he would be needed. Dean tried his best to leave Cas out of it. Hell, Dean had already made him suffer more than enough. It was a sore point each night if Dean was mentally with-it enough to think too hard on the subject. He remembered how unrelenting he'd been on Castiel when they'd first met, pushing him to break free of Heaven's leash.

And had he ever…

Traded in one chain for another. The reality of it enraged him, knowing that Cas felt tethered to him, like Dean wouldn't survive without him. Truth be told, he probably wouldn't. That had been made abundantly clear via one resurrection and weeks of Castiel silently manipulating his body so that he wouldn't die of starvation or thirst.

Because of all that, Dean tried to keep whatever distance he could between them. Conversation to a minimum as well. Fuck, he knew he was awful to be around. Striving for some kind of independence as Castiel waited patiently on the side-lines for it all to go topsy-turvy.

And it would. Dean had no delusions about that. 'Course he had delusions about nearly everything else.

Except tonight, Cas' request had stirred things buried bomb-shelter deep. That spark of energy that had once been between them, almost forgotten now, had gurgled back up from the depths of his psyche and dredged up emotions that he would prefer not to feel. Guilt being one of them. How selfish was he that he tortured the angel this way? Allowing the guy in his bed every night for the sole purpose of keeping Dean grounded? Drugging him if necessary. Putting up with middle of the night episodes that ranged wildly from screaming, to fighting, to scrambling off the bed and yelling at Cas, chanting: 'Don't touch me! Don't touch me!'

God, what a fun ride to be on, right? _Not_.

Castiel, this great and powerful angel, was reduced to Dean's sanity keeper. And he hated it, and himself. Cas should be out in the world, experiencing it the way normal humans did. Really, the guy should be anywhere else in the friggin' universe except tied to…

 _…Me_.

Guilt-ridden and unable to sleep, Dean shifted onto his side and faced the object of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in a rough voice. Fuck, he wished the lights were on. This shit was waaaaay too intimate for the dark.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," was Cas' steady response.

Dean scoffed. "I don't want you to be here." …To do any of this to you, Dean added as a thought.

Opening his mouth, Cas stared at the space between them, shadows of confused thoughts played across his features. Dean waited for him to say something, anything. But in the end, he pressed his lips back together and met Dean's eyes.

Hearing every insignificant sound in the room: The air in the vents, the bed creaks, the dim sounds of a building expanding and contracting with temperature, Dean decided to keep'er going. "You deserve more than this…than this friggin' concrete prison."

The guilt multiplied with startling intensity, choking him. Why couldn't he just let Cas go?

"I'm not here against my will," Cas maintained, holding his stare.

Shaking his head, Dean fixated on the wall beyond Cas. "Yes, you are. There's no way you can tell me that this—right now—is what you _want_ to be doing!" His low pitch turned rough with incredulity.

"What I want to be doing and where I want to be are not mutually inclusive," Cas replied firmly. A deeper meaning all mixed up with those words but Dean couldn't bear to think about it.

There were things he wanted to say back. But he kept them all under lock and key, because some were bad…but even more…were… _confusing_. In the place of everything he could say, he focused on the depth of Cas' familiar blue eyes and let remorse drain out into the space between them. Nothing he could say would ever fix how much he'd broken between them.

He prayed that Cas knew how much he wished things were different. The longer he let himself rest his eyes on the dark blue set in shadow; he realized they'd shifted closer. Or his mind was playing tricks on him. That lesser gap meant his heart started doing double-time. Eyes widening quickly, Dean felt his stare fall towards Cas' mouth. Said angel's lips parted under Dean's rapt gaze. The air turned sharp and uncomfortable, like a current was running invisible though it. It made his skin crawl in a sick way, turning his stomach.

Feeling tumultuous and bordering on a dangerous loss of control, he reached between them and grabbed Cas' hand as fast as if he'd been snatching the side of a life raft being swooped away by the waves, yanking that warm body part against his chest.

Dean breathed out in a gush, like taking that hand had been such a grand thing. Really, he felt like a fucking idiot. Everything was a goddamn process these days: Words, touching, moving, thinking. Each and every action had to be analyzed and rationalized, but mostly controlled.

Except for this.

Grabbing Cas' hand, with its long fingers and smooth skin, had been instinctive. It was possibly one of the first times since he'd been back that he'd initiated touch that wasn't loaded with sinister intentions. Ignoring his own tremors, Dean cradled Cas' hand against his heart and tried to let the heat of it lull him asleep. When his eyes drifted closed, he saw the ghost of something pass through his friend; a penchant of hope not yet acquired. A wish for it.

 _Me too, Cas,_ he prayed. _Me too._

 


	22. It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

> " _And ye, beneath life's crushing load,_
> 
> _Whose forms are bending low,_
> 
> _Who toil along the climbing way_
> 
> _With painful steps and slow,_
> 
> _Look now! for glad and golden hours_
> 
> _come swiftly on the wing._
> 
> _O rest beside the weary road,_
> 
> _And hear the angels sing!"_
> 
> _-Edmund Sears_

When Dean woke, blue eyes and a messy, dark mop greeted him. The angel's hand was still clutched in his arms like a goddamn teddy bear. Dean dropped it and shifted back as though the thing had been shooting flames, feeling disgustingly pathetic.

Cas was never still in bed when he woke up. And Dean sure as hell didn't like it. Though, to be fair, he _had_ taken the guy's hand hostage. During the night, he knew he needed Cas to be there. In case things took a bad turn, as they often did. But in the mornings, Dean was fine on his own. That's not to say that he freaking sprung out of bed and sang with birds, more like shoved the blankets off and wondered if the day would roll-out in a set of precise activities, or if a memory or feeling would careen down on him and blow apart his loose grasp hold on sanity.

Feeling trapped, he lay there, feeling Cas' eyes on him. Already his day felt off-kilter and he hated it. Felt his blood get a little hotter, a current prickling under his skin like a phantom itch. Dean tried to breathe through it, but all that served to do was increase his damn heart rate, which only made everything worse.

"Merry Christmas Dean."

' _Fuck off,_ ' was what he wanted to say. Dean bit hard on the inside of his lip to stop the words. In the end, he opted to say nothing at all. It was probably better.

Getting the hint, Cas got up and left, wearing one of those kicked dog looks that he tried but failed to hide on his way out of the room.

In an attempt to quell the building turmoil, Dean slammed his fist against the hard concrete wall a few times. His knuckles throbbed and blood ran down the back of his hand. But all in all, he felt better.

Changing into gym shorts and a t-shirt, he tried not to think about sitting at the table with everyone later in the day. He didn't want to ruin it. Especially for Sam and Jody. It was the couple's first holiday together and the only effect his presence would have at that table would be to pull everyone's mood down into the crapper. Cas would spend the whole time analyzing him and making sure he wasn't gonna fly off his rocker. And as much as he'd like to think he would be fine, he simply didn't know.

Dean marched down the hallway and entered the kitchen. Cas and Sam were still there—he spoke to neither.

Bread down, wait, pop, spread, eat. Leave _._

Down in the gym, with the familiar smells of metal and rubber in his nose, Dean felt a little more grounded. He was alone, he was doing something that occupied his body enough that his brain stayed un-rattled for the majority of the session, usually running himself into a blind exhaustion.

Without asking, Dean knew dinner would be around when he'd set a time for it. That meant he had the rest of his day to get through. Because that's all this exercise in living was…getting through each day and waking up to another. Dean did it for them. Only them.

Thirty minutes later he found himself in Sam's room. Christmas or not, this was how things were and he couldn't deviate. Sliding off course meant thinking and thinking was very bad.

Sam hit play, cranked the volume up and Dean sat there staring at his hands, picturing them turning gray and falling apart. He said as much to his brother. On autopilot, he told Sam every detail of his dream. And then about the time she'd made a bunch of her demons possess endless women who looked like Lisa. For kicks, really. She had them all come down into Hell, have those demons slip into the background of a nameless body. Next, he and Abaddon would…play. She'd liked to use that word a lot. Let's play lover… Are we not powerful? The two of us? Yes… yes we are, she'd answer on his behalf. I never said anything—the whole time. Dean, baby, yes, I knew this body always craved that rougher ride. Let's take that ride together; let's take whatever we want. The world is ours! Always and forever lover, we'll make everyone our bitch. Right, Dean? Baby, you and me, let's get nice and dirty together, let's get messy, hmm? C'mon sweetheart, don't shy away from me… You know you want this as bad as I do.

Dean continued to speak. After some time, he realized that he'd been verbalizing entire conservations Abaddon had voiced between them—some times answering for him when he denied her a response. Relaying these memories, his voice lifted a little higher to mimic the way her drawling, teasing words crossed her lips.

He paused in the middle of a sentence for no real reason—just ran out of air and decided to stop.

Staring at the floor, he pinpointed, like he did almost every time, all the tiny gouges; the flaws in the surface. Who knew what they were from? A mark of a shoe? Maybe a ding from an errant bullet at some point?

When Sam's voice came to him in a murmur, Dean jumped to attention, missing what'd been said. Waiting for the words to be repeated, he kept his eyes attuned to his brother. It was rare that Sam spoke, and having some clear acknowledgement that this verbal vomit was legit happening made him feel uneasy.

"I, uh, I have something for you."

Fucking super.

"It's like the gym Dean, don't think too much of it, okay?" His brother's hands extended out in caution. Jesus, dude must think I'm gonna fucking jump him or something _._ The second the thought entered his brain, his neurons were all like: hey yeah, that's an awesome idea.

Dean ground his molars. "Sure."

"Here." Dean looked up to see Sam holding out a hunk of wood. Wood expertly constructed into an acoustic guitar. Six strings.

"What the hell do you expect me to do with that?" he asked in a deflated whisper.

Sam's reaction shifted between pissed, annoyed, hurt, and then finally the guy forced some patience onto his mug. "You could learn. You've always liked music. It takes concentration, not much room left to…uh...think, or whatever."

Dean drew a blank. Absolutely stupefied for a moment on how to respond.

"Uhm…thanks?" Looking up at the guitar, he eyed the thing like it was some foreign creature. As he stood, he hesitantly raised his hand. Sam passed it over and he grabbed it by the neck.

"There's all sorts of training videos on YouTube and stuff," Sam offered. Dean felt himself nodding in a daze.

Taking his new hunk of wood, he left the room. The only thing the gift really did was make him feel like horseshit for having nothing to give back. He never even considered going out to get gifts. Not because he didn't want to give anyone anything, but more because the crowds—especially around Christmas—would literally drive him fucking nuts and he would probably murder several people. And in doing _that_ he would obviously ruin Christmas for pretty much the whole fucking Country. Yeah…staying indoors was definitely more the plan. Besides, he and Sam had never been all about the gift-giving before. The occasional, 'Here buddy, have some porn and booze,' was about as far as they got, and even that was rare.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, an effortless execution of his strictly enforced itinerary. No one bothered him and he appreciated it.

This, _naturally_ , went to shit right before dinner.

Dean was in his room trying to figure out what to wear. It was fucking ridiculous. There were clothes all over the damn room. He debated lying on top of them and just going to sleep.

"Don't mind me," he said to himself, "Just losing my shit again. One crappy shirt and pair of holey jeans at a time."

_Jesus._

Cas walked in and noticed him standing in the middle of a Value Village tornado.

The angel's chapped lips parted, probably to ask what the heck he was doing, then his mouth slammed shut as his eyes caught sight of the present neatly propped in the corner of his room.

"Where'd you get that?" Cas asked urgently, crossing the room with purpose. Reaching the instrument, Cas ran his fingers over the strings making a weird little twang ring out into the room.

"Sam gave it to me."

Confused, Cas turned back and stared at him with such an odd expression that Dean felt off-balance and perturbed. Without thinking, he backed up a step towards the closet.

Seeing his unease, Cas' strange look was dropped for a squinty one. "What's with the mess?"

Letting the whole thing go, Dean shrugged. He didn't want to tell Cas that despite his very real fear that he would ruin dinner, he at least wanted to try, and that meant not wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, or track pants, or hoodies. All his ten-year old faded jeans were out too. He had the fed clothes still, but that seemed too much. Getting dressed had never seemed so complicated before.

Cas glanced around the room, taking in every item scattered about. He took a few steps over to the bed and grabbed a plaid shirt that was hanging off the side.

Handing the garment to Dean, he said, "This one." Dean put it on.

The rest of his outfit went about the same. Cas had managed to scrounge up a dark pair of jeans, nicer ones that had no holes or blood stains. Dean honestly had no idea where they came from, and wondered if Cas had somehow flown wicked fast and stolen them from somewhere.

No mirrors for this fashionista, he thought with a manic chuckle. Cas eyed him with a lifted brow and Dean shook his head of the crazy. Anyway, he didn't need visual confirmation of his appearance. A hollow-eyed, hairy mess was about the sum of it. Trimming his beard only happened when it was long enough that he could hack at it without the help of a mirror. That meant using scissors—not exactly the most precise tool. An electric razor would have been a great option, if not for the fact that the buzzing sound made him want to claw his brain out with his fingernails. In the end, his blind trimming technique was quite the hatchet job and he knew Cas hated it.

/\/\/\

Dinner, amazingly enough, went by without a hitch, much to Sam's delight. Dean said all of ten words more or less. A few muttered thank yous, yesses, pleases. He didn't participate in conversation, but that was okay. Sam had made his brother's preferred chicken and rice. Though, he wasn't offended that Dean only picked at it. It came to him as a slow realization that Dean wasn't only shifty about the food he ate, but about anyone else preparing it for him. As if he didn't trust them with the task. No doubt another facet of Abaddon's torture wheel. It made Sam wish he could break back into Hell just to cut her head off.

When everyone else's plates were clean, Dean politely asked to be excused. Sam held back a flare of grief at the request—realizing how far this man was from the brother he'd grown up with. Sam nodded, swallowing back an ache in his throat. "Sure."

Dean rose from his chair and walked off, not looking back. Sam had watched every step of his departure, his hazel eyes staying fixed and glassy on the passage between the rooms long after Dean was gone. Everything had gone pin-drop quiet. Distantly at first, he felt Jody place her hand on his, wrapping her fingers around into his palm. The gentle touch ripped him open unexpectedly and hot tears streamed down his face. That was all it had taken, a flinch, a break in his composure and he was tearing up and sniffling away. Cas stayed, sitting across the table, staring at Sam with familial concern and empathy.

"I'm sorry guys," he apologized in a brittle voice, wiping at his face, trying to clamp down on the force of the emotion.

"It's okay, Sam." Jody rubbed a strong hand over his back in calming circles.

"Wow…I really didn't see that coming." Sam huffed a laugh at himself, sniffed and rubbed his face, trying for a reset.

Cas leaned over the edge of the table and smiled. "Next year will be different."

"You sound pretty damn sure there Cas." There was no point in hiding his skepticism.

"I am."

"How?"

The adopted Winchester shrugged, a modest smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Because he's trying. Yes, he's not quite himself, but he's making every effort that he can stomach to be the best version of who he is right now…and I sense…hope. Or, something very close to it."

Sam and Jody both smiled warmly at Castiel. It had been a long time since they'd seen any joy in his features and Sam concluded that, all things considered, Christmas had turned out pretty damn decent.

/\/\/\

Vishous relished the breeze at thirty-storeys high as he waited for his expected visitor to turn up. A minute later, Castiel greeted him with a relaxed smile. Their one meeting before dawn after the night at the club had turned into a few now. Each time, Vishous alluded that he was done helping the angel and his damaged charge. Except it never quite stuck, did it? He had a weak spot for these two idiots and their strangled life.

For reasons of his own, V kept coming back. Maybe in helping Castiel with the object of his love, V could ultimately put aside his own feelings for the one that had slipped away from him. One dark force, one light. Symbolic much?

Seeing the sincere lifted spirits, V raised a brow. "In the shape of things to come?"

Cas dipped his head in humble disregard of the comment. An optimistic smile was acceptable, but outright verbal affirmation might crack the progress. Don't give hope too much credence, huh, V thought.

"His brother gave him a guitar for Christmas," Cas told him, taking a seat beside V on the edge of the roof of a towering office building that they'd decided to meet on. Each had their reasons for enjoying the height. The perch overlooked the city just outside of where V lived with the Brothers.

The night beyond them was quiet. Christmas evening was marked by indoor get-togethers and quiet family time. And on such a night, who would have imagined an angel and a vampire would be seated side-by-side discussing the trappings of hope. V nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.

That second, a light went off in his brain, followed by a distinct image. "Strings?"

Cas nodded, trying to hold back an excited toothy smile. Vishous hated to be the bearer of shitty news, but… "I should warn you that the things I see are not always in good tidings."

"Maybe not. But in this instance, I feel…" The Angel paused, breathing deep. "I feel something. A fragment of hope maybe."

Castiel braced his hands on the edge of the parapet on which they sat and leaned into the wind, swinging his legs where they hung off the side. V laughed. "Not a typical Angel, are you?"

"According to my former superiors, I was never a very good Angel. I was told I came off the line with a crack in my chassis," he replied, sounding smug as fuck.

"And thank god for that, true?"

Castiel chuckled in a breathy sound. Vishous found his surprising good nature a welcome change from the surly demeanour of the past.

"I have to go," the Angel announced, popping up onto his feet in a way that made Vishous think he'd flapped his wings just to get vertical quicker. No doubt wanting to get back to the man he was undeniably in love with. V might've been jealous had the guy's love interest not been drowning in psychological land-mines.

"Till next time." Vishous capped off a salute.

/\/\/\

Castiel waited in his room for Dean to show up. The man in question strode in wearing dark blue, loose pajama pants with a plain white t-shirt. Scratching along his arms, and rubbing over the skin, it was obvious the events of the holiday had been hard on Dean. Cas frowned, noticing how red Dean's skin was, wondering just how long he'd been raking his nails against it. Maybe he shouldn't have left before.

As his friend sank down onto the other side of the bed, Cas reached over to hit play on the laptop when Dean stopped him, covering the keyboard with his hand.

"Can I choose the movie?" Dean asked tentatively, as though Castiel might refuse.

He hedged his answer, not wanting to allow Dean full reign of movie choice, but also didn't want to squander this small bit of progress.

"What movie?" he asked as nonchalant as possible.

"Uhm..." Pulling the laptop onto his thighs, Dean moved through some screens and searched for whatever he was looking for. An image of a fully-grown man dressed as an elf popped onto the screen. "This one," said Dean.

The movie was aptly named 'Elf'. Cas stared at Dean and truly wondered if he'd gone insane. Castiel didn't believe for a moment this was a movie the old Dean would have chosen by far. It seemed to be for children.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's a comedy. Will Farrell?" Cas kept up the blank face, having no clue who this Will Farrell was. "It's a Christmas movie," Dean elaborated.

"I see that."

"You're looking at me like I've finally cracked," Dean retorted.

"No I'm not," he shot back, trying to squash the smile that he felt just under the skin.

"It's just a movie Cas."

"Okay. Sure."

The movie started and Dean twisted sideways to click off the lamp; the only light left emitted from the screen. Dean had never, _ever_ turned off that lamp before. Lights were off when they went to bed in Dean's room, but not once when they'd watched movies. Some strange energy crept around his senses, and Castiel couldn't be sure if it was real or imagined.

Throughout the film, which was certainly entertaining, the man to his left never laughed, though he did grin a couple times and Castiel found happiness in that.

/\/\/\

Later that night in bed, they were turned to face each other—Cas on top of the covers, as was the unspoken agreement. It was astounding, the change in the atmosphere, a calmness that had been gone from their company so long that Castiel felt weightless with its return. He felt like he could truly breathe for the first time.

"Did you like the movie?" Dean asked, uncharacteristically eager.

Cas licked his lips. "I hate to tell you that Santa Claus does not exist."

Dean laughed. It held none of that sinister edge that made Cas' skin crawl. It may not have been anything more than a delighted exhale, really, but it was still one of the best sounds he'd heard in months.

Uncertainly, Cas drew attention to the changes he'd been seeing. "You seem… _better_."

"I'm not better, Cas. I'm really not. I'm…I don't know what I am." Dean turned onto his back, eyes locked on the ceiling over them. After some time, in a strange, distant voice, he muttered, "I carved you into a new animal."

The words had Castiel up and leaning on his elbow, trying to read Dean's withdrawn expression. "I don't follow?"

"It's what Alistair said after Hell." Dean clarified. "…The first time."

Oh.

Not knowing how to respond, he gazed at Dean, his eyes following the lines of the man's bone structure, and then where it got lost under a too-long, uneven beard.

"You're not an animal Dean," he said eventually.

"Yes, I am," murmured Dean.

Cas lowered his eyes to the half-a-foot of space between them, wishing he could close the distance and wrap himself around this tortured soul. But he wouldn't…not unless he were asked.

"You're amazing." Castiel's lips molded the words into shape, but his throat struggled to produce the sound. Tonight felt very different and he didn't quite know why.

A shift on the bed started him, his blue eyes shot over to see Dean's arm reaching across to slip under his head—still propped by his hand. Glancing down at the tanned skin and light-brown arm hair, Cas wondered what the hell Dean was doing? Shifting his eyes back to Dean's, he let the question show in his expression, arching a brow.

"I know you can't possibly want to be close to me, and I'm so goddamn messed in the head that I shouldn't even ask…but…uh…c-can you…can we?" Dean stumbled his words, and began chewing into his lip. When he finally looked back up, he reformed his request into thought instead of words.

It wasn't a structured thought, only a vague expression of want for something. Getting the idea, a wide smile sat on the edge of his expression—wanting nothing more than what Dean was offering. Instead, he calmed his delight and stilled every muscle and, _very_ _slowly_ , shifted himself into the open spot that Dean had made for him.

Green eyes tracked his progress with a suspicion he took no offense with. Suitably close enough, though wishing he were closer still, Castiel lowered his cheek onto Dean's bicep. From head to toe, Dean stiffened into hard lines, struggling to relax into the new facet of their allowed touching repertoire.

While they'd been physically close before—this was markedly different—this was Dean holding _him._ And the barest hint of this position of power left Dean uneasy. Castiel supposed that was the point. Pushing the boundaries, testing his limits. And knowing all of this, Cas gave the moment its due weight and portent.

For the first time, he truly wished he could sleep, and dream, and wake up in the arms of someone who could guide him onto his back and touch him in a way no one ever really has—as if he were wholly loved and cherished. Castiel wanted everything that such notions would entail and everything in between. Even so, he was, at the very least, in the arms of someone he loved.

Remembering Dean's words from before, he made sure to set the record straight before they dozed off, or rather, Dean did, "For the record…I _do_ want to be close to you."

Dean's chest expanded erratically, a breath getting trapped somewhere inside.

Castiel thought back on V's words as Dean took a lengthy time drifting off into a land of land-mine nightmares. With the warmth of Dean's skin pressed to his cheek, the words hung around inside his brain like hope on a string, dangling but out of grasp.

_In the shape of things to come…_

 


	23. Breaching of Gates

The established, unspoken rule was that Castiel was always the one to make a meeting request. So it surprised him when the text came through from V with only four simple words: "Need to meet. Important."

What was even more shocking was that it was three a.m. and Vishous knew that Cas couldn't leave Dean until he woke. The bouts of trauma that exploded in the night still occurred with predictable frequency. The tone of them seemed to have shifted from sadistically violent to a sheer, groundless terror that would consume Dean entirely before he came back to himself and realized where he was. The outer layers of Abaddon's hold appeared to be sloughing off. What was left as a result was something else altogether; a new level of psychological damage that Castiel had no quick remedy for.

It was mid-January, nearing Dean's birthday. Castiel was certain the eldest Winchester had forgotten the occasion altogether. No one had brought it up so far and Castiel didn't expect them to. It wouldn't be the first occasion to slip by them. The New Year had come and gone with no comment or celebration. The only thing marking the day as different was a single touch gone unnoticed that did nothing except to wrench at Cas' heart.

At midnight, on the first of January, he'd scooted over into the warmth of Dean's side of the bed, inched up so that he could lean over and place a chaste kiss to Dean's damp forehead. Though he'd meant it to be quick, he'd lingered—each second feeling more unbearable than the last. Breaking away, he replaced his lips with his own forehead, closing his eyes and letting a prayer escape him.

It had physically hurt that night that he couldn't show Dean how he felt, that he couldn't kiss him properly, that he couldn't even normally touch Dean without a laundry list of conditions and boundaries. Each passing day made the memories of their shared dream seem like a taunt to him. On very bad days, Castiel sometimes wondered whether it had been real at all.

Why had he jumped back from that kiss? _Why_?! What had his reasons been! Wanting the kiss to be real? And now, it might never _be_ at all. Having endless time to overanalyze, Castiel realized he'd been nothing but a coward then. And now he hated himself for it.

Annoyed by the train of his thoughts, he clenched his jaw and unlocked his phone once more to see V's message. With a sigh, he placed the phone back down on the nightstand, throwing the room into a dense blackness. It was nothing he couldn't see through clearly and shifted to his side and let his gaze pass over the bumpy form under the blankets. Dean's face barely peaked out from beneath the comforter. The skin around the man's eyes were scrunched and lined, not fully at rest by a long shot. For a moment, Castiel thought of checking in on Dean's dreams but he didn't know if shoving them aside would be helpful in the long run or not. Too often he wanted to protect Dean from the past that now plagued him, but as V had said: _You can't coddle him._

/\/\/\

Vishous paced back and forth on the roof of the Commodore. What the hell was taking the angel so goddamn long? He'd texted the innocent-looking seraph over three hours ago. Cursing, he hit the angel up again with another text. And then he called, leaving a snappy voicemail.

"Fly your ass here now."

V got his feet moving again, rumbling his impatience in low growls. He wasn't normally this spastic but major shifts in the balance like this were cause for alarm. And pacing…and fucking swearing.

"Fuck!"

When he heard the flappy-flutter behind him, he spun around on his shitkicker and rammed a finger in the angel's direction. "What the fuck took you so damn long?"

"You know I can't leave at night."

"Yeah well, you're damn lucky it's winter or I'd be frying my ass up here!" Vishous barked at him. Castiel, ever so calmly, rolled his eyes and stepped forward. Placing two fingers on his forehead they swapped out the roof for V 's condo.

How the angel knew where his space was, V didn't care to know. Didn't care for the angel to be privy to his deviant sexual activities neither, he thought with a secretive flicker to the far wall.

"Stop worrying about my judgement of you and your…proclivities and get to the point," Castiel demanded.

"Do your angel voodoo and fix Heaven," V said, throwing off some urgency as he pulled out a hand-rolled and lit up.

"I can't," Castiel replied precisely, unwaveringly.

"Bullshit."

There had to be a way to fix this. If it couldn't be fixed they were so fucking screwed. Their whole race would die out in less than a year. Butch couldn't take them all out, and it seemed there was an endless supply.

"An endless supply of what?" the angel asked, quirking his head and narrowing his remarkable blue stare.

V glowered. "Stay the fuck out of my head."

Castiel raised a judgmental eyebrow in his direction. Okay, so it was damn hypocritical, but V was seriously concerned about the state of an entire species. Especially since his visions had gone all topsy-turvy, apocalyptic on him. The whole thing gave him the shakes. He sucked in a thick drag of smoke. When he blew out, his breath was uneven.

The angel he'd somehow befriended leaned towards him, chin dipped low. "Tell me everything," Castiel said, fixing V with a serious gaze.

Vishous inhaled through the roll, his leather-gloved hand lightly trembling as he pulled back to exhale the swirls, and told the angel what the Brotherhood had learned.

/\/\/\

_Three weeks prior…_

" _Master, I've come as you've asked, what would you have me do?" R asked._

 _The Lesser found himself sucked into the underbelly of some nether world. Not Hell of course. Hell, he'd learned, had recently put up a 'Closed for Business' sign. No, this place was something else altogether—a separate dimension maybe?_ Dhund, _was what the Omega called it. Wherever and whatever it was, the whole place was cloyingly dank and humid. Thick with the smell of rot and heat turning his stomach. The shadow wrapped in white cloth moved over towards him, and R could swear the guy didn't have feet. The being just seemed to hover over the stone earth. Fucking creepy is what it was. But R wasn't squeamish, and he'd partaken in his share of nasties on planet earth. When he'd traded his soul for immortality and a whitewash makeover, he didn't bat an eye. That being said, he'd sure as hell vomited a fuck-load. But what would you expect when someone rips your heart out and leaches pure evil into your body; a new magic giving you life instead of the pumping red as before._

" _I have learned of an untapped reservoir. A plethora of souls, hovering and waiting for an eternity of peace that they shall not see if I have my way. Time has made these souls bitter and angry. I sense it if I try. I feel their growing hate. I aim to take them and twist them for my purpose, the manner of which I haven't worked out as of yet."_

_R had been a simple man in his former life. Part of a decently formidable gang that plagued the streets of the next metropolis west of NYC. Sold some dope since he was twelve, upgraded to coke when he was seventeen. It had escalated from that point. It was following a six month stint in jail, when a wiry dude with white hair and dead-eyes had approached him about a job. Made it sound pretty sweet actually. R had signed on without reading the fine print. But whatev's, he was cool with this shit now. Fighting a hidden war in the middle of the night against those pretentious toothy motherfuckers gave him a thrill he'd never had in his old life that was for damn sure. Only real downside was the impotence that came with the soul-trade. He missed fucking every damn day._

_The concept of souls and using them as the Omega wanted went clear over his head, as they normally went for the living, breathing bodies of the world to turn into Lessers like him. But in his newly acquired position as Fore-Lesser he would give it his damn all to please their master. God knows, you don't piss of the big man._

" _Whatever you wish, I'll see that it's done," he vowed._

" _I require bodies," the Omega said. Such a statement would have made a weaker man flinch. R grinned wide, the gesture twisted like the Joker._

" _Then bodies you'll get, Master." He paused, the idea sinking in and taking form. "You plan to shove those souls within bodies and then trade them out for your own special kind of gift?" R smirked. It was an evil present wrapped in puke and pain, and when unwrapped left you with black in your dead veins and Children of the Damned-style good looks._

" _In layman's terms. Yes, that is my plan." The Omega's voice gave anyone, no matter how evil, a deep dread in the very marrow of their bones. An icy burn that numbed you into compliance, while simultaneously making you cringe like you've never cringed before._

" _I'll get the bodies, you bring the souls, and we'll have ourselves a party." R drawled at the hooded figure. No features were available to read expression, but the impatience rolled off the evil being like a gust of wind._

" _You're dismissed." The Omega waved a hand and between one non-existent heartbeat and the next, R was back in the cabin by the lake in a stretch of land south of Caldwell, NY._

/\/\/\

_Present_

"How's he doing it?" Castiel stammered, eyes wide.

Staggering amounts of lessers the likes of which V spoke of were unheard of in all of history. Cas never would've imagined that the Omega had that kind of "juice" as Dean would call it. Millennia had gone by and the two worlds, as he'd always viewed them, had never intertwined before.

"We don't know. But there are sweet-smelling, white-haired mothers everywhere. It's getting bad out there and so far they've kept it on the DL. No humans seem to have a whiff of what's going down in their dark streets at night." Vishous butted the red smoke in a glass on the counter and rounded the granite to search for a drink, no doubt.

"But you imagine it won't stay that way for long," he speculated. One evil realm closed, another splits wide open. If he'd been thinking straight over the last few months, he would've been expecting something like this to happen. But with Dean out of commission, Castiel had wrongly assumed God would try to cut them a break. With his anger building, Castiel sent a hateful glare up towards the ceiling, allowing foul language to travel up to the Heavens in something not _quite_ a prayer.

"How could it?" V countered, filling a thick, clear glass with equally clear liquid. "We're gonna be out-strengthed PDQ and the foray's bound to spill over into the human world."

Cas watched the vampire tip his glass back and wipe his mouth with the back of the hand holding his drink.

"What does your King say?"

"Lassiter and Wrath both said to come to you. The Oprah-lovin' angel seems to think you hold some magical Gold Key to Heaven or some BS."

"Well, I assure you, I do not." Castiel snatched the weighted glass from V's grasp and downed its contents. The act was useless; such tiny amounts of alcohol would do nothing. His grace burned through it too fast to have an impact.

"I can get more." Vishous smiled dryly.

Perplexed, Castiel wondered aloud, "Are you able to hear my thoughts?"

"No, but I can read your ass like an open book with twenty-point font."

Instantly, his expression flattened out, pegging V with a blank stare. Placing the glass on the dark granite, he turned towards the large window stretching far across the wall. From the very corner of his eye, he could see the farthest wall of the room. The one that was adorned with the most unusual décor. Instead of a painting or two, there were whips, masks, and gags. Evidently V had overcome his father's influence in an interesting way. It made Castiel wonder about the man that Dean might become if he ever recovered from what Abaddon had done.

In the silence, Castiel felt V's stare bore into the back of his head. Even though it was truly out of his control, the guilt still tightened his throat. Vishous was worried for his kind, and by the sounds of things, he was right to be.

"We'll need to find some other solution. I can't repair Heaven. It's…it's out of my hands. I'm sorry." Castiel pointedly looked down at the appendages of note. Each interaction lately had made him feel useless. There were no hidden words of wisdom in the lines that traversed his palms. But he sorely wished there were.

/\/\/\

The glacial wind stung Sam's face and he trembled violently as another chill crept through him. With a whiny groan, he turned to look down at Jody whose face was impassive and fixed as they waited.

"Damn, woman, you're like a rock out here," Sam observed.

"That's because _I_ am actually dressed for east coast weather in January," she snidely remarked, making eyes up and down Sam's poorly clad body.

"Dean and I never had much in the way of good winter gear. Besides we rarely ever sat out in the cold like this. Although we did have a curious lack of cases in colder climates at the right times of the year. I think Dean purposely avoided those. My brother hates the cold even worse than I do."

"Aw, you need me to warm you up, Winchester?" Jody curved into his chest with a smile and tucked her arms into his undone jacket.

"I won't complain if you try." Sam licked his cold lips and bent down to warm those up too.

Their chilled noses brushed as their lips met, and Sam smiled. The inside of Jody's mouth was pleasantly warm and inviting and he was more than happy to take up residence there until the woman they were meeting showed up.

After a few moments of passing the time, he straightened his back and looked down into the brown eyes set on him. Another shiver broke the moment between them.

"Who the hell decides to meet on a wharf in January? In _Maine_?! In the middle of the night?" Sam complained.

"The person who will hopefully tell us what to do with Cale's body," Jody reminded encouragingly.

"You think Cas will know we're following leads without telling him?" Sam rested his chin on Jody's hat-covered head as he spoke.

"He does have that annoying tendency to read minds," Jody huffed. "But no, I think he's too distracted. We need to tie loose ends without him. I know you don't like hiding things from him but just think of it like this: We're taking a weight from his shoulders."

"Yeah and we both know that's bullshit," Sam added.

She didn't need to respond. Sam loved Cas like a brother, especially after having lived with him for months now and seeing the way he cared for Dean. But Sam knew what that single-mindedness got you. And it sure as hell wasn't forward progress.

The shittier part of this whole adventure was lying to Jody too. He'd broached the idea of trying to find out what to do about Cale's body in the hopes that it might lead him in a roundabout way to some news on what to do about Heaven. Against his better judgement, he'd decided not to tell Jody because he figured the less people knew he was going around Cas to get answers the better.

Soon after his fingers started to get that weird too-cold burn, he heard steps tap the concrete in their direction. Glancing to his right down the stretch of concrete marked by massive pillars for cargo ship docking, he saw the woman wafting in their direction.

The ancient being strode towards them in a light maroon dress, blonde hair cascading in waves over her slim shoulders, flipping lightly in the cold breeze. She wore no coat, no mitts, and no hat. The power that came from her made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. A feeling he only ever got from the supernatural stuff. It wasn't a good way to start things, but he needed answers. In all fairness, he had expected this to some degree.

"Sam Winchester." The woman's voice was beautiful. A gentle elegance that eased every part of him. Evidently, he wasn't the only one affected. To his right, Jody's previously straight posture seemed to sag, her gloved hand tucked into his loosened. The air itself seemed to warm up a few degrees just as the wind died down to tolerable.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "Thanks for meeting us. This is Jody Mills." The woman nodded once and fixed her ancient eyes on Sam.

"Congratulations on closing the gates of Hell."

"Wasn't me…but I take it you know that." Sam felt the bite of the chill slide further away, easing the stiffness in his back and shoulders.

"I do."

"It took a lot of contacts to get to you. I've heard of you before, only ever in the lore. A woman always depicted as a monster that guards gateways. Didn't know you had a name before a reaper told me two days ago."

"Let's see that my name travels no further than you. And I am no monster, Mr. Winchester. It's not my fault people try to crash doorways that they shouldn't and I'm then forced to…deny them." The woman's soft voice warped into a rough crawl against his ears. The shiver that travelled through him in that moment was not from the cold air.

"I was told you might know something about what happens to the person who completes the trials to seal Hell?" Jody squeezed his hand for support.

"I might," she acquiesced vaguely.

"Right. Annnnd…?"

"My apologies. You seem to have the gross misconception that I give knowledge for free. Don't think your credentials as a Winchester and the Vessel of Lucifer offer you any celebrity freebies." The woman paced in a circle, closing in towards the edge of the concrete ledge where she turned to face the black dips and peaks of the water moving in the night.

"Why don't you just tell us what you want then?" Jody asked, always one to be direct.

Without giving them any face-time, the women replied to the water. "Actually…I have a job for you, hunter. One that I am not even sure is even possible to do."

"Name it." Sam stared at the back of her head, slightly mesmerized by the way her hair danced in the breeze.

"A passage that I protect, or should be protecting, has recently been violated. I have been unsuccessful at stopping this descendant of evil. He's claiming what is not his—reaping though he is no reaper. I ask that you kill this thing for me."

Sam furrowed his brows. "But you're eons old? How come you can't kill this thing that's breaking through your doors?"

"I've no power over him. I only know one in history who does… Perhaps two. But that's a story for another day."

Great, so how am I supposed to kill this thing? Sam wondered.

Jody released his hand, walking a few steps closer to the woman, or monster, that was rumoured to be as old as the earth. And to his shock—though this was as yet unconfirmed—an apparent relation to Death himself. The woman before them looked nothing like the tall, lanky funeral director type that Sam remembered. This woman was the equivalent of most men's wet-dream fantasies. No doubt she used it as an aspect of her power.

"Tell us everything you know about this monster and we'll do our best," Jody was saying when the woman rounded, staring hard into Jody's eyes.

"Young woman, have you ever felt pure evil? So pure that your heart turns cold? So pure that the thing itself has hardly a shape, reduced to thick, suffocating smoke? Can you kill smoke, Ms. Mills?"

The gatekeeper stepped closer still. "Your world thinks of Lucifer as the greatest evil to walk this earth and you know nothing. Lucifer was born an angel; he has weaknesses. He loved his fellow brothers and sisters despite his goal to rid the world of humanity. This _thing_ of which I speak knows not love. It has one singular familial counterpart. A sister. Were she stronger I might think she'd help, but her strength or her will is failing. This thing has no love for her, only jealousy.

"Sam Winchester, I see the memories of Hell that darken your soul and though that torture was indeed severe, it was in no way as cruel as I know this monster to be."

Sam swallowed back the words of warning that came from the gatekeeper and wondered how the hell he was supposed to kill smoke. Especially since he was a lone Winchester now. It helped that he had Jody—and goddamn—he loved that woman to insanity but without his brother? A fight this big didn't seem possible to win.

"Lay your doubts aside. You and your family have overcome much. Which is why I've brought this to your doorstep. 'Course it helps that you are motivated by needing knowledge I possess. And before you go Sam, there is the matter of that other thing you wish to know?"

Sam shot a fleeting glance in Jody's direction and winced at the slighted glare he felt. Swallowing his guilt for the moment, he met the Gatekeeper's eyes—they were a shining light gold. Surreal.

"I have the answer to that as well." She formed the words as a taunt, making it clear she wasn't planning to tell him more, and merely wanting to make waves between he and Jody. Sam cursed himself for keeping his ulterior motives secret. He'd hear about it for sure.

"I'll leave you with your love then." The woman smirked at him. Seconds later, she vanished before their eyes. A curse slipped out of his mouth in a cold gush of white.

Jody stomped the two strides over and punched him hard on the chest. "Pipe up, Winchester!"

Sam smiled with an innocent, hopefully adorable, apologetic grin. "Let's go check into a motel first," he suggested.

"Fine. But only because I'm worried your fingers are gonna fall off, and I rather like those fingers. They're talented." Jody grabbed his forearm tight and shook him by the limb, muttering a coarse huff at his lies. Sam loved that she wasn't like most women; who might normally be shutting down, getting pissed and quiet. Jody was straight-up about everything. For her, it was enough for now that he knew she was pissed.

A short drive later they were warm in their motel sharing burgers and fries from a drive-through. The meal was so overloaded with salt that Sam vowed not to eat anything but greenery and fruit over the next week. Dean had always ribbed him over the healthy eating, but truth be told, crappy food never sat well with him. It tasted great, definitely, but his stomach had never liked endless amounts of red meat and sweets the way Dean's did.

When the meal was done, Sam crumpled his garbage and tossed it into the metal bin behind the door. He groaned his fullness and reclined against the ugly yellow-padded chair, arching back over the top and cracking his spine, feeling the tightness in his belly as he stretched.

"So," Jody poked him in the abdomen to get his attention.

"Ow! That wasn't very nice," he grumbled.

"Neither was lying to me. Fess up." Jody sat back and crossed her legs. Damn, that was hot.

"You're sexy when you go all bad cop like that." Sam grinned.

"Flattery ain't getting you anywhere today, mister." She smiled despite herself and he sent one back her way.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Easing forward in her direction, he took her hands in his. "I hated the way Cas barked at you before and I know how sensitive he is on the whole Heaven thing so I was kind of hoping I could secretly look into this, involving as little people as possible—especially you."

"Please don't go all he-man on me again." She rolled her eyes.

"No, no. I swear. I'm not. _Really_." He kissed her hand and then held one of her palms against his mouth. He moved it to his cheek as he continued. "If he finds out that I've gone behind his back, I only wanted that to be on me. Save you the grief _just_ _because_ , not because I think you can't handle it. You can handle anything." Sam told her proudly. And he meant it.

"Damn right I can." She looked at him with stony resolve and he knew that she wouldn't step away from this. Not even if that meant standing by his side as they attempted to murder evil smoke.

Seriously though—Evil smoke? What the hell was that? Pushing aside thoughts of any monster worse than Lucifer, Sam decided not to be plagued by the worries of tomorrow when they had a night alone.

On that note… "I've got something else you can most definitely handle…if you're interested." Sam smiled suggestively, standing and running his hand through her short, recently trimmed hair.

"Mmm... I love it when you get like this." Jody licked her bottom lip and went straight for Sam's belt, making quick work of the mechanism and having his pants around his ankles in about two seconds flat. The boxers he had on did a poor job at containing the erection that demanded attention.

Sliding his arms around her back, Sam hoisted her out of the chair and walked them back towards the bed. Using his finger and thumb to tip her chin up so that his mouth could get to hers easy, he lowered down. "I love you," he said before their lips met in a heated kiss.

She moaned in response, giving him that unspoken reciprocation loud and clear. Abruptly, Jody raced over to the wall thermostat and cranked the heat before bounding back over to him with a wide smile, pulling her shirts over her head. Wearing a devilish grin, Sam lowered to his knees—needing to make the most of opportunity. Slowly, he kissed the bra-cupped peaks of her breasts and down her belly until he was licking the last line of skin before her jeans.

Sam got her out of those pretty fast, leaving them in only their underwear and socks. Call him crazy, but he found sexy as hell.

As they tumbled on the bed, him flopping heavily onto her, Jody met his eyes with a serious pause. "You know I'm with you totally in this right?"

Sam sidestepped her meaning to keep their minds on the impending nakedness. "Um, like right now? 'Cause I'm pretty sure your legs wrapped around my hips is implication enough that you're on board."

"Smart-ass. You know what I mean." Narrowing her eyes, she reached back and smacked his boxer-clad ass.

"I know," he said with a measured tone, kissing her chastely on the mouth. "I'm done talking about something we can't do anything about tonight. Jody, I want to ravish you."

To his delight, she bit her lip with anticipation. "I'm yours to ravish, Sam."

/\/\/\

An hour into the movie and Dean still hadn't taken his eyes off of the back of Castiel's head. He hoped if he stared hard enough he'd be able to see the worries that had clearly taken up residence inside the angel's skull. Normal people would have asked outright. He couldn't of course, because, well, Dean wasn't all too-right in the head himself. No need to add anyone else's worries to fester on top of his own. Didn't mean he wasn't concerned though.

They were nearing the end of some movie he was hardly paying attention to. At least he'd been deemed competent enough to choose movies nowadays. Dean wasn't entirely fooled, knowing that Cas and Sam had ultimate veto power. Something like that would have annoyed his former self, but now he was grateful that someone else was keeping him in check, shielding any possible triggers. He hated when the other guy lashed out. The one inside him that he didn't like, that he hated, that he felt so linked to that he'd probably never get rid of the bastard.

Dean also hated it when people touched him, but Cas was the rare exception. Rare with a capital R, because even that was overloaded with rules. Now, as he stared at those thought-ridden, slumped shoulders, he was tempted. Cas had done so much for him. Too much, Dean thought. Heck, he didn't even know why the angel was still here. Sure Dean had some wild rides in the night but he could probably handle that shit on his own. Christ… Even thinking that had his muscles tightening under his skin.

It amazed him how broken he felt, going through each day like a cracked vase ready to shatter at the slightest disturbance. But he'd be damned if he was gonna let Cas be that disturbance. At least not tonight. Today he'd felt okay. He'd even picked at that guitar for an hour or so.

Gearing up, he reached out and laid his hand on Castiel's back, trying not to cringe at the feel of body heat so close to him in an unregulated way. Fuck, he was loony. Dean wasn't the only one surprised by this touching adventure outside of their scheduled programming. Cas flinched and turned back to look at him, his eyes stormy with thought.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Worried about you actually." Do not ask him what's wrong. Do not ask him what's wrong. Dean opened his mouth.

 _Bastard_ … Do _not_ ask him what's wrong!

"What's wrong?" Dean verbally vomited anyway. Way to go Winchester, way to control your level of fuckery. Take on someone else's upturned thoughts, that's a stupendous idea! Great.

"Dean." Castiel regarded him with a funny tilt.

"I'm not crazy," Dean spat, watching a sadness curve Castiel's flattened lips.

"I know that. And nothing's wrong, I promise. I'm, um, not very…relaxed." Cas seemed to stumble for the right term. It was true the angel looked nowhere near comfortable. But he never really did. Even when they slept, Cas always laid out on the covers in a straight line unless Dean was allowing…well… _cuddling_ might be the right word. But that implied intimacy—a characteristic that Dean made sure was definitely not a facet of their relationship. Friendly physical comfort. That's all.

"Look, I may not be the old me, but I'm not stupid, Cas. I know it's more than that but honestly I don't think I really want to know, so you're off the hook for now. Not that I don't care, more because I just…I…" A familiar itch burned under his skin and he immediately clamped his mouth shut.

"It's fine Dean. You have nothing to worry about." Cas looked over his shoulder with an affectionate, reassuring smile. It didn't reach his eyes though. The thought had Dean wondering about the last time he'd seen Cas smile.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to make Cas smile again. But he failed to remember how. The concept of happiness had become a foreign delusion that he saw only in the daily movies and the brief glimpses he got of Sam and Jody together. His knuckles suddenly cramped and pain shot into his hand, Dean glanced down to see one of his hands clawing into the other, drawing blood with his jagged, teeth-bitten fingernails. Discreetly, he wiped the little bits of red onto his pants and rubbed through his beard, scratching and pulling at it to distract himself.

When he glanced up to see if his crazy had been noticed, Cas was watching him from the corner of his eye. The angel said nothing other than to observe Dean with something between pity and exhaustion. Castiel didn't seem to have it in him today to scold Dean for clawing at himself. There was no offer of comfort either.

Should he be happy or worried that Cas was giving up on him today? The latter feeling seemed to win out and it left him antsy and uncomfortable in a way that he knew was real bad news. He prayed Cas didn't leave him in the middle of the night this time because he was sure his nightmares would take over. And he also hoped that in those horrible moments Cas would be a hell of a lot more comforting than he was now.

 _You had to go and rock the damn boat,_ his subconscious sneered the words at him. He ignored that the words banging around inside his skull were spoken in her voice.

Always her...

/\/\/\

All he could smell was their warm, sleepy skin under the blankets. Jody was still fast asleep but Sam had been woken with dreams of black smoke in the early hours of the morning and decided to take advantage. He'd scooted down under the covers, his long legs hanging far out off the end of the bed. He carefully situated himself between Jody's legs, gently shifting one further out.

Smiling at the object of his intentions, he licked his lips and inched forward. Slowly, he swiped up from the center to the top of her slit and felt the rough flinch of her thighs as they came up to his ears.

" _Saaaamm_..." Jody's sleep addled voice was low and husky and brought a moan out of him as he pressed his tongue against her a second time.

Her thighs pressed against his ears harder and he reached between to part them so he didn't suffocate. Jody rolled her hips against his mouth and that was all the invitation he needed to continue. He grabbed her from under her hips and ass and shoved her higher on the bed so he wouldn't be hanging off the end so much. Fully settled and not planning to go anywhere for a while, he delved in, licking up in strokes, pressing into the moist warmth of her. Sam flicked his tongue in a downward stroke against her clit and smiled as he she shook beneath him.

Her hand had reached down to his hair as it usually did and she began her desperate scratching and yanking on the long brown lengths as she succumbed to his mouth on her. He paused to kiss the inside dip of her groin, sucking hard kisses into the sensitive skin. Pulling back, Sam took a second to gape at her so open for him and dove forward with a hungry mouth and licked, sucked, and tongued inside her. She kept trying to tense her legs and bring them up, always straining her body taut when she was aroused but Sam held her down easily.

"Mmm. _Fuck_ …" She scratched hard across his skull and pressed him tighter to her, he went willingly.

Sam moaned as he licked, his breath flowing hot against her slick sex. He loved it when he knew how easily he could slide in if he wanted to but this morning was only for her. After several flutters of his tongue and dips into her, he settled in to throw her over the edge the way he knew she liked, rubbing his tongue down against her clit in a moderate but not too fast pace. He was damn good at this by now and within ten seconds she was jerking on the bed, legs making a valiant effort to break his neck. Riding her through the waves, he continued to taste her until she forcibly dragged him back up her body.

"Mmnn— _God._ " Her head pushed back against the pillow. "Fuckfuckfuck…fuck!" Jody stammered, eyes fluttering. Knowing she'd be able to taste her self, Sam kissed her filthily, pressing his tongue into her mouth in the same way he'd just done with her sex. By the sound of her deep moan and the way her body rolled against him, he imagined she liked it as much as he did.

"What're you waiting for?" She blinked up at him, licking her lips and undulating under him as shudders still passed through her.

"Unh-unh. I wasn't looking for more, just wanted to give you something nice to wake up to," he told her, kissing her jaw and then down her neck, nuzzling against her throat.

"Oh, don't be a martyr, Sam, and fuck me already." Reaching down, Jody grabbed both his ass cheeks and grinded him into her, his cock nudging at her slick core.

"Hey—I'm trying to be unselfish and giving." And boy was she making it hard. Literally.

"Good for you. I'm trying to get laid." She grinned and shifted her hips so the head of him slipped in a fraction.

God-fucking-hell, that was warm and slick. "Alright then! You asked for it," Sam growled, driving into the depths of her in one quick thrust.

"Fuck, _yessss_!" she purred with a glint in her eyes, smiling lovingly up at him with a hint of triumph. And that was all it took for Sam, seeing that affection in the warmest brown eyes he'd ever seen. Moving back slow, he slid out until the majority of his cock felt cool once again. And then staring down at her, he pushed back in torturously slow, feeling every nuance of that good long stroke.

Sam slipped an arm under her lower back and held her tight as he surged and retreated. His pelvis rocked against the top of her slit with each roll of his hips and it drew another orgasm out of her and he had to hold still and cinch his eyes shut to block it all out. Otherwise the pulsating grips of her insides would have thrown him easily over the edge.

Two orgasms in, Jody was a pliable sated mess in his arms and he took his time, moving in slow, full movements.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he breathed out against her ear where his face was tucked in beside her on the pillow. Feeling sweat begin to tickle down his spine and between his ass cheeks, he pumped harder. Hair flopping around his face, cock sliding effortlessly in and out, his mind began to blur with sensation.

On one particular thrust, Jody gasped out in shock. In the same breath, Sam felt an odd pressure against his dick.

"Oooh," she moaned. He felt it again.

"Oh _fuck_ …." Sam drawled out as arousal wracked him, knowing now exactly what the pressure meant. He'd only ever been able to do it to— _Dammit_ , really didn't need to think about that now, he cursed himself. Focusing on the sensation, he angled his hips a little up and stroked her again.

"Oh fuck, Sam… Sam… Sam, I'm…" Jody went still and silent, her mouth falling open, her breath halting in her chest. Reaching down to tug gently on her nipple with his finger and thumb, Sam eased into her, tipping his hips a little higher. Keeping up the steady pace, each time her heat and the pressure making his head spin.

Unimaginably, his cock got even harder, and she felt it. Letting out a trembling moan, her mouth split wider, and her eyes rolled back.

Without warning, she began to tremble, uncoordinated hands trying to push him out. Quickly, he obliged. A rush of fluid poured out of her and she went nuts, laughing and crying at the same time and he ploughed back in and finished almost immediately, adding to the mess they'd made.

Sweaty and feeling so light despite his heft sprawled over her, he felt their hearts rapidly beating, echoing each other in the growing quiet of the room.

"Wow, it's been a long time since that's happened." Jody announced a long while later, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. "I really hope that wasn't a total shocker to you." She said afterward, not even a little shy.

Smiling, Sam leaned up on his elbow to meet her eyes. "Not at all… I friggin loved it. I want to make you finish like that all the time," he said excitedly and with fierce purpose.

"Maybe not all the time! It makes me feel insane," she admitted, wiping at her face. "Like someone just hit me up with ecstasy or something."

"Not exactly a bad thing." Sam teased and kissed her temple.

"No I suppose not. Ugh, we should get up and shower."

A half hour later they were showered and packed, ready to head back to the bunker and begin research on a new enemy. Sam wanted the knowledge about Cale's body, and definitely about Heaven, but he really wished there was another way to get it. If only Cas would fucking tell him what the damn deal was. He knew now that it definitely had to do with Dean and it pissed him off that Cas wouldn't be forthcoming about it, especially knowing that if there was something that concerned Dean, it was Sam's business too.

He'd just have to get answers the hard way and pray that everything worked out.

 


	24. MacIntosh Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptive, awful memories of his time in Hell with Abaddon.

Was it February already? Dean wondered. Man, it had to be pretty damn chilly outside, not that he would've known either way. Christ, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd gone outside. He'd stopped thinking about the world beyond the bunker's walls a while ago. And really, it was better that way. He had his little pattern here and it worked.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew his birthday had passed by, but after two tours in Hell, the last one by far the most brutal, age no longer seemed to matter much. With little interest, he tried to think back to the day, wondering if Cas or Sam had done anything different. Nothing stood out in his mind. The only things that ever did seem to stand out were the things he wished he could forget. But, he wasn't that lucky.

With his eyes closed, Dean used his fingers to pick along the opening riff of a Metallica song. It was a complicated grouping of notes but if he went slow enough and really concentrated, it, _sort of_ , sounded like the song.

_Barely…_

With a frustrated huff directed at the ceiling, he replaced his fingers on the proper strings at the proper frets and started the sequence again.

Playing around with the gift Sam had gotten him slowly ate into his working on the cars time, and even a little of his gym time. It was a perfect combination: The physical and mental exhaustion he kept going for himself. In the gym he'd run like a madman and lift weights until his limbs screamed at him to stop or fatigue necessitated he called it quits. With the acoustic, the heavy amount of concentration needed to learn how to play the damn instrument ensured his brain was one-hundred-percent occupied. It left him with little time to think or concentrate on anything else.

Perfect.

Cas had taken to leaving in the early mornings, and while he'd always left their room before Dean would wake up (with the exception of Christmas Day), this was different. Cas was vacating the bunker altogether, and Dean didn't know why. Granted, he didn't want to know why, but it bothered him all the same. A part of him worried if, one day, Cas might not come back.

Outside his safe place, there was a gruesome, unforgiving world and even though he may have had enough of it, didn't mean that it all stopped. The two sides of himself were constantly at war: Hyde selfishly wanting Cas to stay, Jekyll thought it best if the angel left. He could the feel the outside world, with its long tendrils, snaking their way over to him, trying to snag him in and draw him closer. He fought with the weights and the strings to keep it away.

In attempt to redirect his thoughts, he fingered at the higher strings, working out the riff for _Nothing Else Matters_. He got to the first hammer on and off and always fudged it up. The pull-off at the seventh fret never sounded quite as awesome as it should, and the hammer-on simply falling flat. More than once he'd been tempted to smash the thing into splinters but then he would remember he'd been sitting there for three hours and hadn't once thought of anything…disturbing.

Of course, the second the realization rolled up on him left him wide open for an onslaught of memories. Sometimes he could fight them off, but other times? Not so much. His breath would shorten, his lungs nearly useless, shorting him out on every breath, his heart thumping like a jack-rabbit.

_Deaaaannnn…._

Goddamn, he thought, bracing himself. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Dropping the guitar, Dean threw his head between his legs and covered himself with his arms in a pathetic attempt to drown out her voice even as it came from within. He'd been sitting at the end of a weight bench, not bothering to head upstairs after his workout. His guitar had already been down here anyway since he liked the solitude this place provided.

 _Solitude my ass,_ he thought, as those red lips flapped inside his skull. All flippity-flap, spewing bull-shit over and over again, teasing or frightening him with a merry-go-round of memories.

Her voice echoed in his ears, louder and louder, flashes of the past, of _Her_ showing off her new meatsuit strangled his noggin. What might have been as little as a week up here had been somewhere over two years down there. Which meant there were nearly a thousand days that his brain could choose from to relive. _Awesome._ With his head shoved down between his nylon shorts, the sweaty smell of himself filling his nostrils, he feared the waking nightmare that slowly crept in.

_No more than a month in, and Dean was sprawled out on a stone slab, the dense rock painfully cold against his naked skin. Abaddon thought he looked best without clothes, loving the attention from her demon horde. All of them wanting to prove how devoted they were, or be granted the wonderful gift of being able to enjoy her new skin in whatever way she'd let them._

_A woman, deceptively gorgeous, was riding him while another had straddled his face. Dean was bombarded with wet pussy and he hated it. Abaddon believed he enjoyed it in some twisted way; all these demons offering themselves for their pleasure. As relatively detached as he was, it was still his body being used over and over again. Some days she used him to take. Taking… taking… and taking…in endlessly horrific ways. Other days, she was content to let his body be showered by willing demons. Sometimes literally. And not in the Herbal Essences, cascading waterfall kind of way either. Abaddon seemed to really enjoy the twisted shit. But it was pain that always got her off, like the sensation fuelled her evil the way gas would the Impala. Unfortunately for him, the pain wasn't a sole facet of her twisted ways. Sex was her power._ Always _with the sex stuff. Fuck, at least the bitch was consistent. Alastair was a more straight-to-pain kinda guy. That being said, he wasn't above using some sexual methods of torture but he liked tearing people open way too much, like some kind of demented surgeon._

_Today was a willing-demon pets, show me your fealty day. Nails scraped over his chest and stomach, the squelching of sex slurping up and down his cock left him nauseous in the head. Abaddon controlled his body, maintaining his stiff erection for frequent use, keeping him liking it as much as he tried not to. Dean couldn't stand how his voice roared out to encourage this horror show, only to be occasionally muffled by something wet and soft sliding around over his mouth and nose._

_As Abaddon, and by default himself, neared completion, she commanded the demon chicks fucking him to tear into his skin with blades so that at the exact moment they skyrocketed to pleasure, Dean was consumed with an equal swirl of pain. The whole of her influences coalesced into something so fucked up that it ruled his senses so that no matter how far down he'd huddled into himself, he couldn't escape it._

_He thought he'd never escape it._

Dean was shaky as the gym came back into view, the memory dropping out of his mind's eye. His hands had curled up into aching fists and the thing inside his shorts was fucking hard as a cast-iron pipe. He glared down at it and wished it would just shrivel up and disappear altogether. It's not like he ever planned to use it again. A lifetime of fucking around and decent memories totally annihilated from two years with Abaddon. Christ, the bitch had practically gone Total Recall on his ass and took all the good lays and loaded them with screaming, blood, and innumerous shades of gore.

The memories came back mostly at night when sleep wasn't enough to distract his subconscious, but sometimes they'd poke through in the middle of the day and he made sure to avoid everyone until he felt level-headed enough that he wasn't gonna try to commit murder.

Or worse…

Dean dropped back onto the bench and went to town on the weights, despite the thirty sets of ten reps a piece he'd done not an hour ago. His pecs were already seizing, but he went on anyway. He lifted and lifted, until his arms and chest were shaking, and it felt like he was hoisting up a damn elephant even though the clashing metal discs didn't amount to much. When he finally settled the bar back into its cradle, his whole body was vibrating, simultaneously leaden with exhaustion. It didn't feel like a good combination at all and it reminded him way too much about that night at the bar when he'd really skirted the line.

The sweat drying on his skin felt cool and tacky. He needed a shower before doing anything else. Maybe some scalding water would raw him out a little, burn back the memories. God, he wished he could just light a match inside his brain and be rid of the ghosts up there. Too bad it was a little hard to salt'n'burn your own synapses. Cas could take the memories but with his body tuned to _Her_ station, _Wild_ 69.9 FM, he'd probably go insane after a time. It's not like he had oodles of mental stability now but at least with the memories firmly in place he knew why.

Dean walked the guitar over to stand it by one of the machines, tucked the pick into the strings at the first fret and headed towards the locker room down on this level so he could shower in peace. He went through the motions of dinner and movies with Cas later on but didn't say a word to anyone, having fallen into a blessed numbness for the rest of the day. That night, he didn't let Cas anywhere near him, making the angel stay far on his own side of the bed.

/\/\/\

The following day, Dean had levelled out. Waking peacefully from a dreamless sleep had set the tone of the day. By the time he made his way to the kitchen after a short visit with Sam, all his thoughts were on lunch, his stomach grumbling. It helped significantly that Cas hadn't taken off that morning. Knowing the angel was nearby always eased the deviant parts of his brain. For the last couple weeks, he'd gotten the impression that all wasn't right in the world outside but he just wasn't ready to face it.

But today? So far, so good.

Dean was feeling oddly…buoyant. He might even go so far as to say light-hearted but that might be taking it a bit far. Hopping up on the steel prep table in the kitchen, he used a knife to carve off pieces of an apple and consumed the juicy slivers. The food issue was an ever-present daily function that required control. Dean didn't trust the others on that front, and he didn't know why. Then again, there was a lot he didn't trust anymore.

The taste of the green apple was crisp and clean. Nothing like the tastes he'd remembered in Hell. Same with the chicken and rice he preferred for dinner. With no veggies, no sauce, and no butter, that shit was tasteless. Just the friggin way he liked it. He also needed to wait to eat it until it was near room temperature. The mushiness and warmth of it when it was too fresh gave him a skeevy about-to-hurl sort of feeling. Dean chuckled in a wry snort as he cut another slice; not only was his brain all frigged up, but she had to go and fuck with his food? And burgers, man, he remembered the taste; he remembered the juicy, meaty goodness. But now the thought of ground up meat on a squishy bun, was just…. Nope. Not happening.

Dean swung his legs off the side as a song eased pleasantly through his thoughts when Cas came in and stopped abruptly to watch him, eyes narrowing into little blue slits.

"Dean." Cas greeted curiously, tipping his head to the side as he studied Dean's demeanor.

I know, right? Dean thought funnily, contented by his own current stability.

"Cas." Dean dipped his chin as he chewed the apple through a grin. It felt oddly placed on his face, an expression he was no longer used to.

"You're in a good mood," Castiel noted with a tentative smile, coming closer but stopping a little over arm's length away.

"I suppose." Dean swallowed the crisp juice and worked off another piece.

It was silent as he sliced off and ate a few more bites. There was a tension in Cas' posture that told him the guy was about to say something he wouldn't care to hear.

"Dean, I think you might be ready to take on a little more." And there it is, Dean thought.

Breaking eye contact, he lowered his eyes to the apple. Way to ruin the mood, jerkface. Here he was pleasantly enjoying a day without stress, without nightmares crawling around his conscious mind, and Cas had to push it.

"What do you mean?" he mumbled eventually, feigning ignorance, cutting a slice and sliding it off the knife into his mouth. Man, Cas should not be suggesting these things when he was holding a knife for fuck's sake.

"I mean, perhaps do some research for Sam on a hunt or something. No actual hunting of course, but I think you need to push yourself. I think you're ready to push yourself." Castiel hesitated cautiously, reaching his hand out to lean on the counter. With a great sigh, he added, "Dean, it's been over five months."

Had it been that long? Huh. Dean could feel familiar blue eyes assessing him, creeping down the back of his neck.

"No," he said firmly.

"Dean."

Cas stepped closer, piercing the bubble of his personal space. Dean's head swung upwards, eyes finding the blue, unrelenting stare he knew so well. Anxiety warmed him from head to toe.

"Don't push this," Dean pleaded as a tremor worked its way through him.

Ignoring him, Cas moved an inch nearer. No matter how hard he tried to control his reactions, his eyes still split wide with terror, and a hollow drop set off in his belly, feeling twisted sideways.

Cas frowned, dismayed by Dean's frightened response. "I would never hurt you," his old friend whispered softly. The same words he always said. Mostly at night, in those awful moments where Dean would clamour off the side of the bed, wrapping every blanket around him and screaming at Cas to stop—even though he'd never once been doing anything in the first place. Dean wondered how many times he needed to hear it before it made sense to him. Half the time he wasn't even sure what he was afraid of—Cas, or himself? Fuck it. At this point, Dean was probably afraid of everything.

Dean snorted, having nothing to say either way.

Passion flared in Cas' sudden steely gaze. " _Never_ , Dean. I have and will always watch over you." Cas leaned closer, forcing Dean to shrink back. "Do you…do you have _any_ idea how much I—"

"—Yeah…I know. And I'm really not worth it." ...And I sure as fuck don't need to hear it.

"Yes, you are."

Slowly, capturing all of Dean's focus, Cas reached forward and gently pulled the knife from Dean's painful grip on it—not realizing how tightly he'd been holding the thing. Next, the apple was taken and placed on the counter. The knife appeared to have vanished altogether. It was probably a wise move on the angel's part. Who he would've ended up cutting was anyone's guess.

Cas stood close enough that Dean could feel the radiating warmth of being too near and not near enough. How could he simultaneously want Cas miles away and still close enough to count the array of blue tones in his eyes? God, his brain was short some marbles.

Dean stared into the endless blue wishing he felt more than he did—more than fear and panic, more than crippling autophobia. Wishing he had the guts to do more than cower like a child. People freaked him out. Yes, it was pathetic, but there it was. And the ridiculousness didn't stop there. Dean freaked himself out.

_I'm a creeeeeeep, I'm a weiirrdddoooo… What the hell am I doing here?_

"Think what you want, but I can tell ya there's nothing left of me except scars and dirt," he uttered to break the silence. Though, in a way, it was also an explanation for his limitations.

After his morose admission, Cas seemed to snap out of a trance and refocus on him, taking inventory of his expression; captivating blue eyes flitting up towards the lines on his forehead before resting on his mouth.

A sudden flash of pain twisted Cas' expression as his eyes traced Dean's features.

"Dean," he breathed, voice raw and uneven. Dean heard Cas suck back a shaky breath. The heat intensified as Cas boldly stepped closer, moving right in between Dean's knees.

"There's so much more," said Cas in a low whisper, head down in shame as he seemed to crave greater proximity.

"What are you doing?" Dean quaked, hands dropping to the counter to clutch the edge. He tried to look anywhere else but failed. He tried to relax, knowing somewhere deep down, that this shouldn't be as terrifying as it was.

_Pussy…_

Fuck off, Hyde.

"Do you want me to move?" The desperate tone roughened Cas' voice, an unparalleled anguish that Dean didn't entirely understand. Finding Cas' eyes, all Dean saw was profound, inner torture, and something reckless that led to guilt. Cas had framed the words into a question, but Dean sensed the desperation, he saw the need. If Cas was this ragged and desolate now, what would happen if Dean said yes? If he made Cas walk away…

Did he want Cas to move? Yes and no.

Dean decided, ultimately, that there were no words to be said. All in all, he was being a fucking pansy, wasn't he? Clinging to known realities and conventional social behaviours, Dean forced himself to jerk his head from side to side. Back and forth, idiot. There ya go. Shit, if Cas wanted to be closer, Dean had to let him. Even if he lost his damn mind because— _fuck_ —today had been a good day. And _fuck_ , he could handle this. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

Oh, crap… Was the air thin? The air definitely felt thinner.

Jesus Christ, Winchester, settle down already. Breathe in, dude. You're cool. Now, breathe out. Awesome. Repeat that shit.

Cas was in a world of his own, it seemed, eyes drifting shut with such terminality, you'd think he was about to leap off a skyscraper to his death. A grave expression saddened the lines of his face. The angel perched up on his toes towards Dean, who remained rigidly still, eyes bugged out to watch every millimetre lost between them.

When Cas was close enough that his head shadowed some of the light, and his breath hit Dean in the face, Castiel paused, eyes opening with a sense of dread. "Please say okay. I'm asking…not taking. Please say this is okay." But he wasn't asking, he was begging. Dean couldn't remember ever seeing Cas this frantic. It cracked through the blanket of fear, breaking free a sense of rational thought. All his bullshit got shoved off in favour of never wanting to see Cas this upset ever again.

The flood of normalcy was a cool breath of fresh air. Dean wanted to pummel himself for being so goddamn weak that he was terrified from the prospect of a kiss. There was a chance he was reading the moment all wrong, and considering his recent lack of sanity, the chances were good. But it was Cas. And though Dean couldn't imagine why the angel would want to kiss him, considering what had happened—

Wait, no. Nope… Nuhn-uhn. Not now. Those thoughts weren't allowed in this blissful moment of lucidity.

Dean blinked and dipped his chin so imperceptibly that if Cas had been human he probably would have missed it. It was the most acceptance he could handle without losing control. The room flooded with heat the second Cas' lips brushed his in a featherlight touch. A barely there graze of lips that couldn't really be called a kiss at all.

Shocked to his core, Dean realized he wanted more. Having geared himself up for the worst, the actual event was somewhat lacking.

Rolling his eyes at his own cowardice and pitiable reaction, he—very ungraciously—popped his head out a little further and planted his lips to Cas'.

It was weird. The plumpness of Dean's lips seemed thicker, the skin more sensitive. Moving experimentally, Dean noted the sheer lack of coordination. It was like he'd never kissed anyone before. A tingle rippled down from his tongue to his belly.

In abrupt swiftness Dean reared back, quickly overcome with fear and humiliation. It was ridiculous that there was a bead of sweat rolling down the centre of his spine.

What had just passed as their first kiss had been total shit, all because he'd become some freak that no longer knew what the hell to do.

 _Useless,_ she sneered. _That's what you are without me_. In the moment, he was tempted to agree.

Cheeks hot, he buried himself in his palms. "Oh my god, that was fucking awful," he began in a shaky ramble. "Shit Cas, it wasn't supposed to be like this." Nothing was ever supposed to turn out this way…

Dean could take a lot of shit. Hell, he had taken a lot in his day. But she'd gone and made him a monster, made him like it, used him, abused him, did things that was sometimes all he could see on himself. Every wretched stroke plagued every inch of his skin until sometimes all he felt were hands on him.

The past made a go of prying back in, images pushing the edges of his perceived reality, worsened by the darkness the cup of his palms provided.

"Dean." Cas attempted to peel his hands away from his face gently, but the embarrassment and fear was still dominating him. Dean stubbornly tried to hide longer. He'd never felt so ashamed and worthless as a man before. Christ, he couldn't even kiss properly! What the hell was that? Eventually, Cas won the battle of wills and Dean was forced to face the softened expression set on him. He felt a building heat from his chest to the crown of his head.

"I'm good…" he began. " _Was_ good," Dean amended. "Grrr! I _was_ good at this…once. I… I…" My _God_ , just shut up already, he thought to himself.

"I'll stand here all night if you want to try again," suggested Cas, wearing the most charming, delighted smile Dean had ever seen. The formerly distraught blue gaze was now full of light and hope.

Licking his lips nervously, Dean shook his head and let out a frustrated groan. Passing a shaky hand over his face, he forced himself to smile back. The anxiety released its hold on him to a certain degree, and he laughed drily. "I'm so fucked up."

After a few uncertain moments of shifting, coy hesitation, and reassurances, they kissed a second time. Incredibly, Dean didn't feel quite so out of his depth. The panic hadn't disappeared altogether, it still set the pace of his heart but he managed to hold the groundless fear and all the 'wrong' thoughts at bay, focusing solely on the soft, dry touch of Cas' lips. They were warm and gentle, and that was a manageable feat. Of course, he didn't experience any 'down there' interest, but he was happy for it, and not at all surprised.

When they parted, each hauling down a shaky breath, he no longer felt like a total idiot, about half maybe, or like, sixty percent. Even still, he couldn't handle a second more of the close proximity.

"I don't wanna be a dick but I need you to get away from me right now," he asked through clenched teeth, fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, his knuckles white. It was one thing to have his brain rationalize the kiss as normal, it was another to have his body agree. The jittering of his muscles and the loopy sensation in his stomach were a bad sign. Thank God they hadn't touched more than their lips.

With absolute understanding, Cas went the way of the angels and vanished from right in front of him. Dean's blood felt too hot to be real, searing hot in long streams as it ran up and down his arms, coursing the length of his legs, a burning where it pumped and thumped erratically. Needing a distraction as bad as oxygen, Dean began humming loudly, rocking at the edge of the table.

As if he were moving down a list, he mentally played out as many songs as he knew on the guitar, tapping his fingers on the table when his claw-like grip allowed it.

After a while, he stiffly slid off the table, knees cracking, and went about making himself some actual food. He took off from the kitchen and passed by the library, skidding to a halt as he eyed the clock on the wall.

How the hell had he been in the kitchen for three hours!?

Dean swallowed, feeling a resurging fever but managed to beat it back to the depths of his crazy. Being a whackjob was fucking exhausting, he reflected. Deciding his day had gone to shit, he went to Cas' room to watch a movie, picking off his plate along the way.

As he stood in the doorway of the empty space—it was earlier than normal and he imagined Cas would be MIA for another hour or so—he realized today was the first day he'd truly altered his strict schedule in months. And he hadn't tried to kill anyone…or done other things. He'd had no visions, no trips down House of Horrors memory lane. Which was downright amazing. Medal-worthy, even. Man, what would that look like? _"And here we present to you, Dean Winchester, Gold in the Olympic category of Keeping His Shit Together."_ Crowd goes wild.

Exhaling loud, he did some introspecting. It was a facet of the control. Every action necessitated an analysis.

I kissed Cas, he thought slowly. Yes, it was ultra-weird and embarrassing, but _good,_ in the right way. _Shit_ , he hoped in the right way anyway. The fact that his dick had stayed flaccid was, ironically, the thing that made him believe the kiss had been on the right side of his crazy-train.

Cas' reasons to want the kiss largely evaded him. But hey, if the angel wanted to contaminate himself with Dean's poison, he could go ahead and tarnish himself that way. Geez, with the amount of time they spent together, Dean wouldn't be surprised if some of his darker thoughts and overall dirt crept between them and damaged the angel somehow. Angels were so full of light and goodness. Admittedly, there were dicks in the God squad, lots of them, but not Castiel. And that was what made Cas so vulnerable.

Absently, Dean wondered if he had the power to break the angel like some toy. If his twisted soul could infect that grace not unlike a virus. The notion seemed logical to Dean in that moment. So logical, in fact, that he turned away from the room and followed the hallway to his own door. He went inside, locked it, and crawled into bed.

/\/\/\

When Dean never showed for that night's movie-time, Castiel knew he'd made a horrible mistake in kissing Dean. He'd been so thrilled to see Dean sitting there, seemingly… _happy_. Normal even. And the urge to kiss him, to be near him, was overwhelming. His body kept bringing himself closer, his grace twisting with unrelenting need. Cas had been selfish and let his heart call the actions instead of his head. Dean seemed to think it had been a bad kiss, but Cas couldn't recall anything greater than the press of Dean's mouth against his own. The beard had tickled, but he kind of enjoyed it. A very immoral part of him wondered what the rough patch of hair would feel like scraping down the side of his neck. Swallowing, he reorganized his brain towards less guilt-inducing thoughts.

Sensing Dean was in his room, he got up to make sure his friend wasn't sliding backwards from his progress. Entering the room he found Dean curled under the blankets, not asleep but laying there motionless. On the nightstand, his dinner sat mostly untouched.

Wordlessly, Castiel crossed the small space of the room to the bed and eased himself down onto it. Dean didn't register his presence at all. He lay out on his side, his left arm tucked under his head, facing Dean's back and stared hard at the shape of the man that the blankets made. The slight movement of Dean's breathing was irregular.

"Don't backslide over this," he said quietly. Dean didn't reply, not that Castiel had expected him to.

"I'm sorry about what happened in the kitchen. But it's fine, you didn't do anything wrong. Neither of us did. It's okay." Castiel reassured. "You're not lost, Dean. You can move past this. You were doing well. I know what she did. I know what you went through but you're the strongest living thing I've ever met, and I don't say that lightly. Don't push me away, please. I know, after everything, you're confused about this, but we're okay Dean. We're okay, and I'm not going anywhere."

Cas waited to see if Dean would say anything. He didn't, so Castiel talked some more, finding he didn't care for the silence.

"If you keep pushing people away, if you keep rigorously sticking to your daily schedule you'll never get back who you were. It's a little like it was in the beginning when you refused to eat or shower. You're not really trying for progress anymore, only maintenance." He told Dean, wondering when he'd crossed the line from apologizing to criticizing. How long had Dean's distance been eating away at him? "Sure, you talk to Sam and do other things, but you never actually let me in dammit. I'm sorry I crossed a line, but I'm not going anywhere. I care about you, I lo—"

"You don't know what the hell you're saying. You don't know any better." Dean croaked weakly from the other side of the bed.

Castiel exhaled angrily at the words. "Don't belittle my feelings because you can't accept them. Because you're confused. I know my own emotions." His voice grew stiff and a little bitter.

Dean shifted but didn't turn around. "You're wrong. You're an angel, Cas, your purpose is to help humans. And look at me; I'm the best case there is. I'm something you feel the need to fix. Nothing more."

The words stunned him. Castiel knew Dean's mind had twisted things around, but the memories that existed before everything had happened with Abaddon were very much real, and some way Dean had managed to corrupt them. Taking away years of deep feelings that crossed the line of friendship and relabeling them as duty? No, he refused to accept this. The denial and redefinition of their past pissed him off.

"Can't you see how manipulated by everything you are? You're the one that can't trust your own thoughts. You may feel disassociated from before but your memories are very much still intact. Have you forgotten so easily the forty-eight hours before all this happened? Have you forgotten that prayer in purgatory? Because I certainly haven't."

Dean made no reply. Castiel groaned heavily, trying not to be hurt by it, wishing he could go back to earlier in the day and take it all back. But now that the conversation had begun, he couldn't stop it.

"Dean, I turned my back on Heaven for you. I gave up everything I believed in because you made more sense to me. I didn't fall from Heaven to protect some needy human, to fulfill some ingrained purpose. I fell for _you_. I didn't even realize until I was already knee deep in the earth and now it's too late and I'm not going anywhere." As he spoke the words, it occurred to him that he'd never truly put it all out there so clearly. But now, Dean needed to know. Or maybe Castiel just needed to say it. The distinction didn't truly matter at this point.

Dean made an odd noise, deep in his throat, a telling hitch. Cas wondered horribly if he'd made Dean cry. It was the last thing he wanted.

When Dean spoke, his voice was rough, "I don't deserve that level of devotion. I never did. And especially not now. You always put me on a goddamn pedestal, Cas" Dean's voice rose higher, "And even when I wind up as low as they come, _lower even_ , you're still here! It doesn't make any fucking sense!" Dean flipped over on the bed and grabbed Castiel's wrists, slamming them back over his head with surprising force.

"I raped you!" Dean howled; a harsh, angry expression boring down at him. "I tortured in Hell. _Twice_ now! And worse Cas… A lot fucking worse. You can't imagine the stuff I've done." Dean's face twisted into self-disgust, his lip curling and his green eyes torturously pained.

Despite the outburst, Castiel refused to hold back any longer. It had been months of stale nothing and he was done with it. Especially considering recent happenings in the world. If nothing else, they might need Dean soon enough, and for that, he would need to face reality. He met Dean's rage with a fire of his own.

"It wasn't you and you damn-well know that. You're not an idiot, Dean. You just hate yourself so frigging much. She messed you up in the head, and physically. I understand this, I do. But she didn't diminish your intelligence, nor your ability to reason."

Dean withered, drawing back, his hold loosening. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Because you're it for me." Castiel answered succinctly.

"Well that sucks for you." Dean trembled and released his wrists.

/\/\/\

One of them should've stormed off. That would have been the normal thing to do. Instead, they continued to lay there, brooding and angry. For a long hour, Dean listened to Cas breathe, trying to calm himself and not end up saying something else he'd regret. Neither of them spoke a single word during the tense sixty minutes. But even though his lips were silent, his body betrayed him. The fight had taken its toll like he should've known it would. Shivers jolted him in passes, accompanied by flashes of disturbing imagery. Dean cursed himself over and over again for having pinned Cas down—not exactly the type of thing he should be doing on his road to recovery. But dammit, the angel was being so fucking stupid.

Fuckin' guy was a goddamn martyr. The shitty thing was, Dean had become so dependent on the angel, much as he'd rather lie to himself otherwise. Rationally, he didn't want Cas near him; knew that he wasn't good for anybody. But he was selfish. Cas was the only steady thing in his life besides Sammy. The only thing that brought him down when he felt like he was spiraling off the edge. But, shit, he'd hurt the guy countless times over. Physically, mentally—in ways Dean probably couldn't fathom. It was a constant guilt that never seemed to abate. Add on to that the worry that he was contaminating the guy somehow.

And yet…here he was… _still_ hurting this glorious, heavenly creature, still… _tainting_ him.

Cas had some twisted notion that Dean was worthy of his unfaltering care and love. When really, it was Dean who should be on his knees, catering to Cas' every wish and command—trying to make up for all the horrors he'd caused, all the hidden bruises he'd given…and the many, _very_ real ones as well. He'd torn Cas from his life in the Heavens, and didn't care about what happened as he slowly forced the angel to forsake everything he knew.

Before Dean came along, Cas had been this perfect Heavenly soldier. The guy had morals and a penchant to perform good deeds on earth. _After_ Dean…Cas had been tortured, banished, killed, raped…

The word flared inside his mind, making him flinch, balling his hands into fists. The bed creaked and he felt Cas' eyes on him. Dimly, he wondered how much Cas was listening in on.

After everything that had happened, Dean believed that Cas should hate him. _Do unto others as they do unto you,_ right? So why didn't he? Why all the sticking by him no matter what? No matter what Cas had said, Dean still didn't get it.

But heck, if Cas wanted to self-torture this way—staying by Dean's side and all—Dean should at least give himself over to be whatever Cas wanted. Even if he thought Cas was an idiot for wanting what he did, and even as it made Dean drown in the guilt from the sheer thought of Cas touching his bare skin, knowing the other things that had been on it and done to it, he had an unsurmountable debt to Castiel.

A debt to be paid however the angel saw fit.

It seemed Cas wanted him, and though it went against every fibre in his being to give in, it was the only way offered to him to pay his dues.

Dean turned his head to the side and cleared his throat. "Are you listening in my head?" he asked.

"No." Cas answered carefully. "Despite what you may think, I try to give you privacy as much as possible unless necessity deems otherwise."

"Good. Stay out of it from now on. No matter what." If Dean was going to lay himself out for the angel, he sure as hell didn't want Cas to know the fucking crazy shit that would no doubt spring up inside his brain in all shades of ugly and perverse.

He could do this…

What other choice did he have? Cas wouldn't leave and Dean owed him for everything he'd ruined and broken. He just hoped Cas knew how badly he would be tainting himself. If anything, Dean should at least come with a goddamn warning label.

Cas observed curiously, wondering no doubt where Dean was headed with their conversation. A few more ticks on the clock passed by and he realized it was now or never. Swallowing thickly, bearing down on a shudder, Dean forced his hands to shove the blankets down.

Using jittery fingers, he began to undo his button-up.

_I can do this._

For Cas, he'd have to. Fuck, he should go shower first maybe. Or like, flay his skin and put on a new coat of dermis. Damn, he hoped Cas could just use him. Pretty sure he couldn't get the little guy on board. Pain could probably do it, though, he thought. Yeah, that would work. He'd hurt himself if he had to.

Eyes flaring wide, Cas seemed to clue in. Throwing his hands out he captured Dean's carefully, stilling the tremors.

"Dean. Dean, what are you doing?"

Okay, so the shakes he had were pretty embarrassing. His heart pounded with clawing fear, and his cock had drawn in so much it was practically non-existent, _but_ he forced the words out anyway. "Giving you what you want."

In saying the words, he knew they were a lie—he wasn't giving shit. He was forcing himself to let Cas do what he wanted, giving the angel the death-wish of a relationship with Dean that he was so keen on. Friggin hell, what would that even look like? Whatever, it didn't matter that Dean thought Cas was dead-wrong on this, he owed the angel whatever the hell he wanted.

Cas' lip trembled for a split second before his teeth caught it, his blue eyes glazed over with something like sorrow. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his head in a thump onto Dean's chest, landing on their joined hands.

"Dean…" Cas breathed roughly. "Dean…not like this." Raising his head, he met Dean's eyes. "This isn't what I mean."

From the chaos of dark brown hair, to the expression lines and obvious grief in his eyes, Dean had never seen Cas look so heartbroken. All he could think was: _Great… I've hurt him again._

An irrational flare of self-hate whipped through him. Can't fucking do anything right, he thought. He couldn't kiss, he couldn't offer redemption… What the damn hell was he even good for?!

"Well, what the hell do you want Cas?!" he demanded, shoving the angel back on his side and sitting up halfway. Fumbling with his shaky fingers, he tried to redo the three buttons he'd managed to open up. Fucking little plastic bitches wouldn't get in their fucking holes… Managing to get one in there, the other two were fucking impossible. His fingers kept sliding off the tiny-ass circles and finally, he gave up, feeling borderline psychotic. Who knew shirt-buttons could be so enraging?

"Please Dean, can we just forget the last three hours and," Cas looked up and wiped at his face, "and-and lay here. Let me hold you…if you want. _Only_ if you want. Forget this whole conversation and find comfort together. Please?" Castiel's tone was laced with pleading and need. The beggary of it twisted Dean's desires for a moment, and he thought for a moment he preferred the evil feeling to the scared one. At least one gave him the confidence he'd sorely been lacking.

When Dean stared blankly back at Cas, looking for all the world as though he'd shut down completely, Cas continued desperately. "I only want whatever you are willing to give, if that's only a warm body next to me at night, then I'll take it."

Blinking dumbly, he struggled to figure out his own mind. Christ, it was like weaving through a ball-pit on acid and all the balls were the same colour, and there was no exit. He picked up the thread of thoughts and tried to make sense of them. On one side of his brain he felt he should be forced onto his knees and let Cas fuck down his throat, play with him—if that's what the angel wanted. On the other side, a distant voice reminded him that he was the one who was fucked up; that he couldn't trust his own mind anymore. Slowly, he worked around what he knew, trying to push back the other shit. There wasn't much left.

Had he been doing good so far? Dean didn't know. Everything was stale except the memories that would sprout up.

Well, the memories… _and_ _that kiss_ , he reminded himself.

The kiss, for the most part, had been not all bad. At first it had been scary, the touch foreign, and then downright humiliating. But the second time, the feel of Cas' warmth up against him, the press of his dry lips on Dean's, was…enjoyable. That is, until it wasn't. But, man, those first few seconds had been pretty awesome. Maybe that was enough for now.

"I liked kissing you," he mumbled, feeling diffident. It felt true. If nothing else….

Cas' whole face lit up. "Me too."

Dean felt the corner of his lip quirk up with something along the lines of a smile, but it was probably more a sneer. Alrighty then. Kiss equals good. _Accepted_.

What else made sense? They enjoyed movies. They held each other sometimes at night. That was usually comforting. It was a good contrast to the nightmares. Of course there were times where the touch drove him to insanity, but he was blessed at least with the ability to realize how crazy he'd been after the fact.

And lately, the calm nights where being held felt good had begun to trigger new desires. He'd been reluctant to bring it up. But since he was already being selfish in letting Cas stick around, he figured he might as well roll with it. The part of him that demanded he serve himself up on a platter delighted at the new prospect of what he was about to ask. It took a bit of internal coaching to get the words out.

"Hey, uh, tonight, can you, uh, get-get under the covers. Maybe? If you want." Dean asked, biting hard into his soft, lower lip.

"Is that you want? Truly?"

"Mm-hmm." Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Needing no further coaxing, Castiel shuffled until he was under the sheet and comforter, fully dressed, and turned to face Dean with a stiff expression, though the smile showed in his eyes.

Dean's guilt returned.

"I'm such a selfish bastard for keeping you and even worse for asking for more," admitted Dean, sliding forward to hide himself against Cas' chest.

Cas said nothing and just held him restfully. Dean breathed in the scent of his saviour and let himself relax. Before a nightmare could drag him under, he tilted his head back to see Cas' scruffy chin and waited.

After a moment Cas peered down at him. They watched each other for a long time, not for anything more than Dean's need to psyche-up. He stretched up and touched their lips together, holding the intimate press for as long as his body could stand. He wanted to do it—a part of him reminded him that this was okay—that he'd once wanted this. He had to trust that guy more than the other damn voice that sing-song'd through his noggin every frigging day.

Dean resettled back with his face pressed against the dip between Cas' pectorals. "No offence but I'm sure to have nightmares tonight. Keep them away, Cas. I can't…I can't handle the shit that has you in it. Okay? Not tonight."

Cas nodded and lightly kissed the top of his head. A gentle fog crept through him and he knew Cas was sending him into sleep the way he'd done in the beginning. He was grateful for it. His body was strung-out from the events of the day and he probably wouldn't have been able to fall asleep without it.

"—'hanks," he slurred into the heat of Cas' chest, feeling his hands loosen their tight grasp on Cas' clothes.

/\/\/\

Waking up alone was usually what he preferred, but today? Not so much. Not after laying himself out as he'd done last night. Panic rode in, going from zero to sixty, heart pace tripling towards an arrhythmia, fingers clawing at the cotton sheets. The horrific worry of Cas leaving him a stone weight in his chest. Maybe he'd finally gone too far? Maybe Cas finally got a glimpse of how fucked up he was and decided to bow out.

Past events had already stripped him of dignity, so he might as well beg.

 _Cas…_ he prayed. _Cas, please don't leave. I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm so fucked up. I don't know how to do this anymore. I don't know how to be normal… But I'll do better. I swear—_

—The door swung inward with a whoosh, Cas stepped inside wearing a curious expression, his head angled. "I was only in the kitchen. I told you, Dean, I'm not going anywhere." Cas reminded firmly, closing the door behind his back and coming to Dean on the bed.

Without asking for permission, Cas climbed up onto the bed. It was only when Cas dark brows bent together and he paused on a dime that Dean realized he'd shuffled back all the way to the headboard and was…yup…clutching the fucking thing.

_Good god, what's wrong with me…_

"Sorry…sorry…" he rambled. "I'm—" Dean balled himself up, drawing his knees to his chest, and wrapping his arms around his head.

_Fuck._

"Dean, I'm not here to hurt you, I'm just gonna pull your arms away from your head okay?"

Familiar hands tightened around his forearms, a gentle persuasion that forced him to un-pretzel. The look of pity and horrific understanding that greeted Dean like a smack when he opened his eyes was too much. And it royally pissed him off.

"Don't fucking look at me like that," he snapped. Jumping off the bed, he scraped some clothes off the floor and wrestled them on. Cas' eyes followed his every move and it fucking made him twitchy.

"I'm sorry, " said Castiel lamely.

Exhaling gruffly, Dean headed through the door, slamming it behind him.

Down in the gym, he cursed loud with every rep, hating how goddamn weak he was. Weak, and fucking pathetic. So, Abaddon had screwed with him! What kind of loser was he that he couldn't get over it. Fuck, almost every time Cas came near him, he freaked out. _Even now—after months!_ Christ, he was shaking all the damn time, too. Last night he thought he'd gotten himself to be okay with the two of them in some way. But today felt the same as any other day. The toil of memories and downright crazy always ready to take him for a ride.

But heck, maybe Cas was right? Maybe Dean needed to push himself past this. The thought wholly terrified him. Especially because last night he'd basically been ready to lay naked and let Cas fuck him or do whatever— _Clearly_ he wasn't right in the head. How the hell could he be trusted to make any decisions at all? Was he even ready for this?

 _Jesus_ , ready for what? he asked himself.

Mid-morning rushed up on him and he took his sweaty self upstairs to Sam's room. He walked in, closed the door and sat on the floor.

"Cas and I kissed." The confession tumbled out of his mouth the second his ass hit the concrete.

Sam's mouth dropped comically. "Umm…that's good, isn't it?"

Dean noticed, for a while now, how the room was a mixture of Sam and Jody: The clutter of stuff, clothes, and the smell. The two were full on together, living together, making love and all that. It was beautiful. Shit was normal.

"I'm happy for you Sam." Dean said, ignoring the question, scratching his arms to calm himself.

"Thanks."

"You think Cas should leave?" It was probably smart to ask an impartial individual.

"Why are you asking?" Sam shifted closer along the side of the bed to hear Dean over the music.

"Well, I mean, don't you think I've done enough? I want him to be around, Sam, but look at what I've done to him. I don't think I'm with it enough to know what's best for the guy." Dean fiddled with the hem of his shorts.

"Don't think like that. Cas made his own choices. You never did anything to purposefully hurt him, and what happened wasn't even you, and Dean, _you know that_." Sam emphasized. "I know you feel messed in the head, but every day when we talk, you're very cognizant about what happened. I think deep down you know what's okay and what's not. Real and not real."

"Ok…" Dean allowed. "Cas thinks I need to push myself more. And some part of me agrees, but another part of me is smiling and waiting for an opportunity to lash out. Soooo… I want you to decide for me. You think Cas should stay, fine. What else?"

When some time passed and Sam hadn't spoken, Dean lifted his head. Evidently Sam was waiting for him to make eye contact.

"You always look away from me when you come in here, I think you need to look at me when we talk now."

Dean nodded, despite knowing why he had a hard time looking his brother in the face. Abaddon had purposefully included young looking delusions of his brother in her twisted destruction of him. He was sure Sam knew, but he didn't know how deeply it had ruptured something in Dean. It had been one of the only times he'd screamed at Abaddon to stop.

"What do you think you can handle?" Sam asked, thoughtful.

Dean snorted and threw his head back against the door. "Training wheels," he muttered sarcastically.

"Alright, how about over the next week, I want you to start talking to Cas too."

"What?!" Dean flailed, sitting up fast and rubbing down his face.

"I'm serious, you talk to me but you won't come anywhere near me physically, and you're the opposite with Cas," Sam elaborated.

"There's a damn good reason for that." Dean told him roughly, running his fingers over and over through his hair, feeling himself go a bit berserk.

"I know. I get it Dean. But if you want to move forward, fine, take my suggestions. Whatever you feel you can handle. At least try once. And in two weeks if you haven't gone totally off the rails, I think you should tackle a ghost, or something simple with me whenever the next one comes up," Sam went on.

"Are you fucking crazy!" Dean shouted, rising to his feet. "I can't go on a hunt. I barely go outside!" The second the words left his mouth he wanted to haul them back. He'd never felt so low before, so defeated. Could that really be the case now? Was he that bad off? I mean, sure, he didn't go outside. Shit, he never left the bunker, he—

Dean fell back against the door and closed his eyes.

"The fearless Dean Winchester, huh? What a fucking joke," he stammered with a dry laugh.

"I know you can handle it. You have more control over yourself than you realize. She really fucked you up Dean, but you're gonna come out of this as the biggest fuck you to that bitch rotting her ass in Hell." Sam egged him fiercely. Dean saw in his brother the hate that simmered for Abaddon—the demon who'd turned his big brother into this lowly, sad thing; a dim expression of what Dean Winchester used to be.

"Ok, ok… Dr. Sam. I get it. Prescription received. Can I go now?"

"Dean, you know I've never once forced you to talk to me. You come into my room everyday of your own will. That alone is something. Never forget that."

"Riiiight… So are we done then Dr. Phil?" Dean asked tiredly. The last two days had been hard on him. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew his limits.

"Yeah, sure. And eat something different for lunch today." Sam added in a stern voice as Dean left through the door. He didn't know how eating differently was supposed to help things, but whatever.

/\/\/\

Castiel was waiting in the kitchen after partly eavesdropping on the tail end of Dean's conversation with Sam. He'd kept his promise to stay out of Dean's head, but he couldn't help that their voices carried easily over the music. Being an angel _may_ have aided that.

When Dean wandered in, he was stiff in the shoulders and guarded. The second he noticed Castiel, he paused and took a deep breath.

"Sorry," Dean fumbled automatically.

"Please stop apologizing." Castiel told him. Easing the tension, he walked over to the fridge. "What do you want? Can I make you something?"

Turning back with the fridge half open, he absorbed Dean's dubiety, his eyes flitting around the room and finally back to Cas. Dean shrugged nervously, the bravado a little thin today.

"Use words," said Cas, pushing him.

"I'm not five asshole, I'm just fucked in the head." Dean gestured with a flick of his hand. "Give me a minute," he snapped. Trying not to smirk, Castiel nodded and waited.

"I want a salad?" asked Dean, scrunching his nose as though he'd surprised himself.

It had to be a joke. "A salad?" he repeated, grinning.

"Did I stutter, chef?" Dean quipped back.

Castiel squinted, quirking his lip. This was more of the Dean he once knew. Despite the whole salad request, but he could make a salad. They weren't so difficult as other food preparations he'd tried in the beginning. Besides, he liked fresh fruits and vegetables. Especially berries.

"Alright then." Castiel began pulling items from the fridge. Behind him, Dean leaned on the counter to watch as he cleaned and chopped an array of salad-worthy ingredients.

"Dressing?" he asked, distracted with the last of the chopping. Cucumbers the last to be dumped into the bowl.

"Umm…none, thanks." Dean grabbed the bowl and speared some of the crunchier bits with his fork.

"Why no dressing?" Castiel asked inquisitively. It seemed strange.

"No reason." Dean's lie was blatant but he wasn't sure if he should push it or not. However, he did hear Sam tell his brother to open up to him as well. Twisting his mouth to one side, he debated, watching Dean chew the dry vegetables.

"I believe there _is_ a reason and I want you to know that you can tell me if you feel you are ready to do so," Cas offered without meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean sighed, throwing his head back and placing the bowl on the counter and pegging Cas with a hard glare. Cas focused in on the fierce green, more alive now than even a month ago.

"It's honestly nothing that bad. It's, uh, certain sensations of food, like texture, feel…wrong. I can't pinpoint any one thing that caused that. I can't tell you the roots for the things that have made me this goddamned nutjob. I don't know Cas…honestly. I don't." Dean rubbed a hand through his beard, the sound coming off as light sandpaper before the clink of the bowl and fork were back in the room and Dean continued to eat.

In a daze, he stared at Dean's face as the man ate, mostly the way his jaw moved, his fixation drawn to the uneven thatch of hair.

"Are you planning to shave?" Cas narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to observe how truly ragged the facial hair was, one thatch longer and sticking out more than the rest. A missed spot, perhaps.

Dean chuckled a little with a full mouth. "Don' like m'acial 'air?" he mumbled.

"It distracts from your face."

Dean rubbed it self-consciously. "I can't trim it," he explained with a shrug. Done with his salad, Dean walked his empty bowl to the sink to rinse it, scrub it, and place it on the drying cloth to the right of the sink.

"Why not?" Castiel may be testing his boundaries, but it did some good the last time so he was willing to push some more.

"The noise," Dean answered curtly, avoiding detail.

"I could take care of it for you without any noise," he offered. Facing the sink, Dean shrugged. His broad shoulders were wide, and the height of them would be a perfect place for Castiel to rest his cheek—not that he would.

"I dunno, I don't mind the beard. Does it really bother you?" Dean's voice was tight.

It was true Castiel wasn't necessarily against the beard; he certainly had enjoyed the tickly sensation. It was more the uneven, tangled mess that he didn't care for, so that was what he told Dean.

"Can you make it look okay? I don't…I can't use the stupid buzzing razor. I just can't. The sound freaks me out. And I…fuck I don't even know why," Dean undertoned, turning back to face him.

"Yes." Castiel agreed eagerly. Without hesitation, he touched Dean's face, instantly fixing it so the growth was even and soft. His hand lingered longer than necessary, curving down over Dean's jaw, pulling away only as his fingers brushed the smooth skin of Dean's neck.

Dean reached up and felt around, seeming pleased. "Thanks," he said with an awkward smile.

/\/\/\

The softness was like nothing he'd ever felt on his own face before. It was normally so coarse. It made Dean wonder if Cas had manipulated more than the length of it. Knowing that the angel might have tweaked his manly whiskers to be that much more pleasant to touch—perhaps even for Cas himself to enjoy— left Dean oddly pleased by the notion.

Not that he was about to presume Cas wanted to kiss him again. Psyching himself up, he decided to come right out and ask. _Awkwardly_.

"Uh, can I try again?"

When all Dean received was a confused slit of eyes examining him, he cringed at the thought of elaborating. "From yesterday, standing in almost the same spot, you said you'd, um, stick around if I wanted to try again?" Dean tried to grin the way he used to do for women, but it felt all wrong so he stood there like a dumbass instead.

"Yes. Definitely yes," replied Cas enthusiastically. Dean nearly chuckled, quickly trading momentary joy for a blink and a pass of his tongue to wet his lips. His heart pace tripled, pounding out a beat that was suitable for a club.

'Okay," he concurred formally. Ugh. These things were really not supposed to be premeditated and discussed. It made the whole thing that much more nerve-wracking.

Whatever, he leaned forward and planted a quick one and backed away, smiling without teeth.

"Wait, wait… that sucked," he floundered, cheeks turning hot. "Let me do that again." As Dean dropped forward again, slower this time, he couldn't help but see the excitement in Cas' eyes, the soft happiness that brightened him all up. It was soothing in a strange way and he felt drawn to it. Magnetized to that purity that he was shocked still existed after what he'd done. Dean forced himself not to think about that.

Their noses grazed and Cas exhaled against him, Dean latched on to Cas' lower lip and mouthed at it before moving to the upper. He didn't dare part the pliant lips, not at all ready for the liquid warmth of a mouth. Cas kissed him back with resurgent presses and little noises that made Dean's head feel fuzzy and light. He wanted to hold Cas to him, tightly, grip around his body and mold them together so that he could feel every inch but he knew it would be too much.

Dean backed away, feeling his mouth pull up at the corners, shyly glancing down between them. When he gathered the courage to face the object of his thoughts, he was met with a dreamy expression: Blue eyes still closed, mouth slightly parted—all as if Cas were waiting for him to continue. It made Dean a bit wary—Cas was being _waaaaay_ too easy.

He coughed inelegantly and Cas' eyes flashed open and the angel straightened up, rolling his shoulders back and valiantly trying not to overdo it with the grinning.

"Ummm…" Cas studied him quickly, and then glanced off to the side.

"I'm gonna head downstairs for a while, okay?" Dean waited for Cas to register that he was leaving. Cas nodded, inhaling deeply.

Leaving the kitchen, Dean's legs seemed to want to run down the hall and triple-step it down the stairs but he forced a more relaxed pace. He couldn't place the feeling he had. It wasn't panic, not fear either. He definitely had no shudders of arousal. So what made him want to run and jump?

Halfway down the stairs, he halted and grabbed the railing. "Excited," he said aloud, finally feeling a grin spread his lips out. He pressed them together to stop it, feeling unworthy of that degree of joy. Despite clamping down on the grin, he still hopped down the rest of the steps and went straight for the guitar.

He'd master that damn riff today, he knew it.

 


	25. Salt'n'Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the beginning italicized text is taken from BDBVerse.

_"The Omega is evil incarnate, worse so than the Devil himself. Nothing but a swirling mist of malice with only one real purpose: To destroy the Black Dagger Brotherhood, and all vampires. The Scribe Virgin, the Omega's sister, was gifted a single act of creation. The Omega sees her creations as a waste; parasites the he needs to rid the world of. Unable to create life himself, the Omega responds by mutilating humans, turning them into soulless fighters. This war has raged on for centuries beneath the oblivious eye of humans and all other creatures._

_There is a prophecy that could bring about the end, and so it reads: 'There shall be one to bring the end before the master, a fighter of modern time found in the seventh of the twenty-first, and he shall be known in the numbers he bears. One more than the compass he apperceives, Though mere four points to make at his right, Three lives has he, Two scores on his fore, and with a single black eye, in one well will he be birthed and die.'"_

Sam leaned back in his chair and followed the words with his eyes a second time. How the hell had he dealt with supernatural shit his whole life and not known about all this? And something worse than the devil himself?

 _Fuck_ …

Cas entered with a mug in his hand, wearing an over-sized black hoodie. One of Dean's, Sam realized, that he hadn't seen anyone wear in a long time.

"You look, uh, comfy?" Sam commented, not used to seeing the angel dress so casually. True, he'd been wearing Dean's clothes: jeans, t-shirts, dress pants even. Actually, Cas had basically usurped Dean's entire closet. The clothes were always a little roomy for his smaller frame but they fit just well enough to still look like they could be his if they were out in public.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, running his hand over the soft, worn fabric. "I found this in the back of his closet and it seemed… _homey_."

More like homely, Sam wanted to say. Watching Cas sip his coffee with calm contentment, he pushed the book he'd been reading in a skid across the table to the angel, who snapped it up as it reached his grasp.

"What's this?" Castiel asked, looking over the text, making his question redundant. "Ahh…" he realized quickly. "I told you. Vishous is nothing to worry about, he's one of the Brotherhood, not the evil discussed here."

Sam inclined his head. "Oh, I know. You wanna tell me more about this, uh, evil incarnate guy and the prophecy thing?"

With his head tilted low, Cas raised only his eyes, "Why are you worrying yourself with things that are out of your control?" Castiel asked curiously, placing the book back on the table. "The world has gone on for centuries with many creatures of all kinds. This war," Cas noted, pointed a finger on the book cover, "is not our war."

Despite his words, Sam sensed that Castiel really meant "humans" and not their funny little family here. For the longest time, things with Cas had been easy; a brotherly relationship of sorts that Sam thought he could rely on, but it seemed the lies were piling up on both ends, pushing them further apart.

He was unwilling to let Cas in on his own schemes and Cas was still tight-lipped on Heaven and Dean's involvement. It drove a wedge between them and he hated it. Sam wouldn't give away what he'd been doing for the most part, but he sure as hell was done skirting around the issue as a whole.

"Cas."

Rolling his eyes back, Cas squared his shoulders. "Don't, Sam. I know where you're going with that tone, and we've been over it." The angel's demeanour was at odds with his attire—university student meets angry professor.

"Not to my satisfaction," said Sam. "You think I don't know about things happening out in the world right now? I know something's wrong Cas! I know it has to do with Heaven being shut down, and I know it has to do with this!" Sam jabbed a finger at the book, efficiently titled ' _The Omega,_ ' a book that he'd had to dig through the bunker's underbelly of unshelved books to find.

"Whether or not what's happening in that world affects us doesn't make a damn of difference if there's nothing we can do about it," his friend clipped. "And besides, there are more important things for us to be taking care of." Read: Dean.

"Yeah, and how is that coming along? We can't baby him forever. He's better, Cas. He needs back in, we need him. A shit-storm is coming, you know? I _know_ you know! And we can't fight it without Dean. You know that," Sam argued.

"Fighting isn't the way to win this," Castiel whispered wistfully, his former anger withering as thoughts clouded over his undirected gaze.

Sam paused, taking in the shift. "Then what is?" he pleaded, rising out of his seat to go stand by his adopted brother.

Castiel chuckled with a sardonic edge, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "You know, it occurs to me that Chuck was a shitty writer." Cas laughed some more, losing his composure.

"You mean God?" Sam remembered.

"God." Cas bit the word off, snorting as he did. "They say God is a Shepherd, directing his flock this way and that; maintaining that the path is clear for us. He told me a great amount, and sometimes I honestly wonder if he'd been joking."

Sam watched, eyebrows drawn together, perplexed by Cas' ramble.

Easing into a straighter posture, Cas sighed, his features firming up into determination. "Look, Sam. I know you're worried. If there was anything that could be done, it would be done. I promise you. You know how I feel about your brother, but I don't think you know how much I care about you as well. Differently of course, but I see you as family, and I promise I am not keeping things from you to be cruel."

Catching Sam by surprise, Cas pulled him into a hug, squeezing tightly. It took Sam a second or two to reciprocate and wondered oddly if Cas was cleverly using familial gestures to waylay the discussion. If he was, the angel was cleverer than Sam had given him credit for.

Or, maybe, Sam thought guiltily, Cas was as in need of family comfort as they all were.

/\/\/\

Dean couldn't quite remember what he'd come into his room for, but somehow, he'd gotten sidetracked when a certain someone with wings had followed through the door. Both of them had wound up by his closet, bodies close, fabric brushing together in soft whispers. Cas' arms hung firmly by his sides, Dean's were loosely folded into the front pouch-pocket of his own sweater that Cas had on.

Each kiss was easier than the last with the minutes getting lost faster and faster, the touch turning magnetic, making him lean in a bit closer. And when, without fail, he started to react, one way or another, he'd yank himself back. He had no trust in his body anymore. Thankfully, he wasn't there yet in this particular kiss. Dean angled his head and pressed harder against Cas' mouth, tempted to snake his tongue out and taste the smooth skin. Wondering if it would feel good.

Cas shifted in a way that Dean felt his abs tighten through the thick sweater. Gasping with abrupt need, his tongue skirted out in a single, mindless motion. Dean managed to sneak a fleeting taste of heat before Cas ripped backwards in shock, apologizing vehemently.

What was more astounding, was that Dean was actually fine. The sudden break in the kiss made his heart stutter some, but Dean controlled the flare up of faint panic and shushed Cas with a look, reaching out to snag the kangaroo pocket and pull him back for more. Courage had built up like a game of Tetris and he was damned if he'd let a new addition clobber him up.

"It's okay. I'm okay," he said in a low, but steady whisper, easing Cas into his arms. Quickly working back into the kiss, he took one calming inhale and parted Cas' mouth with his lips, slipping his tongue between them. The wet heat consumed him like a forest fire and his heart went haywire—the beats quick and irregular. A throaty moan rumbled into the air, drowning out all other noise, and Dean decided it was the best, happiest noise he'd ever heard. With light, tentative strokes, he licked into Cas' mouth, teasing a response.

God, he hadn't felt like his old self in so long, and it was incredible to gain a modicum of confidence back. Cas sagged into his chest, parting his mouth more and testing the waters with a nervous lap of his own tongue. The action set Dean alight, and before he realized what he was doing, he was walking them over to the bed, nearly tripping over the thing.

They stood, unbalanced, in a half lean against the side of the mattress with Cas holding onto him, arms cradled around his neck, kissing in sloppy messes of lips and tongue.

It all went to shit when Cas shifted and his erection prodded Dean's inner thigh, triggering a unwelcome break in his head, cartwheeling backwards to Hell.

 _Abort_!

/\/\/\

It was hard to comprehend the following two minutes after he and Dean had made it to the bed. Everything had been going great, that is until Dean was almost instantly on the other side of the room in a ball on the floor.

Catching up to the change, Cas stifled his heavy breathing out of sheer will and cautiously approached Dean, kneeling to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I should've known not to let things get carried away," he said gently. Dean shook his head from inside the blockade of his arms.

"Do you want me to leave?" he wondered. At that, Dean snapped his head up with wide-eyed fear.

"God, no! Sorry, sorry. I, uh, just kind of…snapped. Reality decided to go wrong on me and I didn't want any of that near you," Dean explained, bags appearing under his eyes, as if exhaustion had snuck up on him in a flash.

"Alright. I'll stay." Cas lowered to his butt and slid back so they were side-by-side against the wall. The ominous bed loomed in front of them.

They stayed that way for a long half hour. Cas stole fleeting glances at Dean, wondering what might be on his mind. Seeing him this way, he wanted to reach out and hold his hand, or brush the back of his hand against Dean's cheek in a gesture of unmistakable affection, but knowing the way Dean could be on the subject of touch, stopped him cold. The distance between them, despite the actual lack of it, strained his heart. Indeed, they had come a long way. The earlier kiss proof of that. But Dean's suffering was far from over, and too often Castiel felt inept to help him get past this.

At some unknown cue, Dean got up, extended a hand for Cas to take, which he did, getting hauled up off the floor.

The earlier tease of lust was gone, and when Dean leaned close, it was only for a quick, chaste kiss. "I'm gonna head downstairs for a bit."

"Everything's fine though? You sure?" asked Castiel, knowing that nothing was exactly _fine_ but as good as it could be.

"I'm mentally sound…for the time being." Dean grinned, but it was forced, his eyes still haunted by things Cas wished he could fix. Reciprocating the dispirited gesture, he nodded.

/\/\/\

Making his way down to the gym, Dean's thoughts were raddled by where his mind had gone the second Cas' erection had poked him in the leg. For one, awful split-second, he'd had half a mind to hurt Cas some way.

The worst part of it is that he hadn't expected to react that way. Fear and nausea, yes. But not a rebound to Abaddon's sadistic adventures.

For a while, most gut-reactions had been utter terror of impending violation. But this most recent trip back to truly evil shit had shaken him. Dean's mind had flipped back to a detailed recall of every hole he'd forced his cock into, well, _Abaddon_ had forced, he amended. But still his dick. And all still in his memory, seen through his eyes, felt through his skin. Hearing pleas to stop and shouts of pain. The memories had mixed and mingled with the present and he'd instantly thrown himself backwards, terrified of what simple memories might do if they were too close. Or worse, what he might do if his grasp on reality went sideways.

He was due in Sam's room sometime in the next hour or two but hopped on the treadmill and ran as hard as he could until his time was up. Keeping up a rigorous pace, Dean ran until his legs nearly gave out and he smashed the red button, collapsing onto the handrails, heaving breaths, his vision spotty.

Gulping down about a litre of water and getting a shower in, he strode up to Sam's room just shy of lunch.

Sam was packing a bag as he came in, tossing in bottles of Holy water and salt. His brother's eyes flashed over to him and he distractedly reached over to hit play on the iPod dock.

Dean dragged the chair from the corner near his spot by the door and plunked down into it. "Where you off to?" he asked.

"You mean, where are _we_ off to?" Sam amended, turning around to shoot Dean some serious eye.

"What?" Dean felt his mouth go dry, even with the near lake he'd just consumed. "Sammy, I don't know…"

"It's time." Sam decided in a tone that didn't seem up for debate. In the past, Dean might've fought him even with that tone, but this time he settled for giving in. He nodded and decided he had to get back into a more normal life eventually.

So what if he was screaming internally? So what if Abaddon's voice still rang through his head? He was rational enough to understand that it was _IN_ his head. It wasn't real. The only real things he needed to control were himself and his own actions. He thought, _maybe_ , he could do that.

But just in case… "You'll make sure I-I…don't, you know?" Dean made a face and met Sam's understanding silence with a small dip of his chin.

"Good. Good. Yeah, okay, let's do this." Dean stood up and started to psych himself up for heading out into the brave not-new world. Part of him felt like tackling a hunt was like leaping off the highest diving board without learning how to swim but he knew he was just being a pansy again. He'd tackled dozens of ghosts in his day and all the knowledge of what to do, the ins-and-outs of hunting were still intact. Dean simply needed to rely on the clear lines of what he'd learned and not focus on the violence of it. Despite how broken and fucked up he was, a thread of his former stubbornness had held on… _stubbornly_ , he thought with a chuckle. And thank God for it, because it was that sole remaining part of himself that would get his ass out the door.

The time to leave crept up quick on him. As he stepped outside, the crisp, fresh air of winter opened him up from the inside out, clearing him of cobwebs and rusty joints in a way the gym couldn't manage. Dean forced a smile, acknowledging that low-grade fear, and decided he just had to live with the constant higher blood-pressure.

"You wanna drive?" asked Sam, shaking the keys up in the air. Dean flashed back to the last time he drove his car and vigorously shook his head, heading into the back seat, leaving Cas to ride shotgun.

Sam coiled his big body into the car, slumping into the seat, the added weight causing the car to bounce. Doors creaked as they shut and Cas rounded in his seat to gander at Dean and how he was doing.

"I'm fine, stop giving me the hairy-eyeball, alright?" When neither Sam nor Cas replied, Dean grunted, losing patience. "You guys wanted me out of there, I'm out, we're all back doing the family business, get on with it before I lose my shit." He glared until they both turned to face forward. Sam started up the car and steered it down the gravelly laneway that led away from the bunker.

A good way into the drive, wherever it was they were going, Dean spoke up, his nerves rattled and his thoughts easily distracted, he decided to force his attention elsewhere. "Ok, so what's the deal then?"

"Hmm?" his brother hummed, eyes on the road.

"Like, what's the story or whatever? Who are we going after?" Dean elaborated, flipping the new phone Sam had given him in his right hand. No doubt it was GPS-tracked in ways he wouldn't be able to get around. If at any point he wanted to ditch his baby-sitters he would need to trash the thing. Somewhere inside him a laugh rang out— _yeah right_ —like he was gonna take off by himself. No fucking way.

"So, get this: Mark Anderson, thirty-four, married for eight years, spray-painted his entire house with the sentence: 'Leave us alone,' over and over again. Him and his wife died so soon after that when the cops arrived, the paint was still wet. There were no signs of forced entry; they appeared to have zero enemies. I mean, the friggin' guy played golf on weekends and ran a charity for kids! His wife, same deal, radiated sunshine and all that." Sam pulled out his phone and tapped a few times to get to what he needed, then handed the device over the seat.

Dean took it and read the newspaper article, studiously ignoring the other headlines scrolling across the top. Sam's overview had been thorough, with extra detail which meant Sam had already dug in a little further to make sure it was actually a case. Heck, Sam probably had someone else scope things out to make sure it was a simple ghost and that they wouldn't get sideswiped by something that everyone knew Dean might not be able to handle.

Shoving down the feeling that he was five at the kiddie table, he wordlessly handed back the phone. Castiel shifted, leaning against the seat with his cheek pressed to the leather. Dean expected some sort of watchful analysis, but instead he was relieved when Cas only appeared to be looking at him for the sake of looking and nothing more. Dean felt uneasy with the attention, considering his brother was right there.

Meeting his eyes, Dean smiled without teeth before letting the scenery draw his attention to the window and away from the adoring gaze. The trip took somewhere near five hours in total, and he was glad for it. It had been a long time since he'd been on such a journey, and with all the activity he forced on himself each day, his body wasn't liking the stretch of laziness.

They checked into a motel and Dean headed right for the bathroom, locking himself in and taking a minute to ensure he was still all there.

Marbles in place? _Check_.

The glint of metal framing the mirror entered into the field of his downcast eyes, and Dean debated whether to look up. Over the last few months, he'd seen passing reflections of himself in shiny things, the occasional passing glimpse of the mirror when he'd gone into the bathroom, etc. But he hadn't wanted to really look at what he'd become. Dean feared that everything he went through would be somehow written on his face. God, how could it not be? With every damn step, every breath, he felt it all, all-over his skin. The whole experience with _Her_ had tattooed his soul and no matter what everyone else saw, or didn't, he knew the truth. He saw it all.

"Suck it up, man," he said aloud, forcing his head up.

"Jesus, fuck!" Clamouring backwards, Dean crashed against the door with a bang. His hands shot up to his face and he leaned forward in absolute disbelief at the man he saw. He knew his hair had gotten longer, and he knew his facial hair had gone from scruff to a full-on beard a while ago, but… _shit_.

Letting his eyes roam from top to bottom, he noted all the changes: His skin was strikingly pale from the lack of sun, the beard was bushy thick and close to an inch long. Thanks to Cas it was at the very least even. Christ, he didn't want to know what he'd looked like before. His light brown hair, normally straight and quite short, had to be a good few inches now. Lately, sure, he'd kept having to swipe it off his forehead but he never really considered that it would look so… _long_. His gaze travelled down his torso to where the mirrored image cut-off at his waist. Thanks to his efforts in the gym, he'd been putting weight back on fast and knew his muscles were a little more cut than they'd been before. All the greasy food from his previous way of life had always kept a good layer of softness over the strength he'd built up in the past. Now, with his food habits different and the excessive cardio mixed in with the weight-training, he actually looked not half bad.

Apart from the Grizzly Adams visage above the shoulders of course.

Remarkably, his skin, in all appearances, was devoid of his past. No scars, no visual marring to display for the world what he'd gone through. Did that count as false advertising, he wondered? Maybe he needed a tat on his neck or something that read: _Beware_. He grasped at his beard with his fingers, tugging at it and turning his head different ways, looking at himself from different angles. Finally, he gave up the self-assessment, stepped to the right, flipped the lid up and relieved himself from the long drive.

He was washing his hands when Cas knocked, his concern easing through the door. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Dean opened the door as he answered and moved past the angel and the accompanying narrowed assessment. Slumping onto the bed, his fingers still reaching up to tug at his beard, Dean raised his head to watch Sam as he stood at the foot of the bed with the laptop balanced on his monstrous hand.

"Okay, first, we need to head to the station, and then we'll go talk to the neighbour of the couple, Carly-something or other." Sam closed the laptop and tossed it onto the middle of the bed.

 _Huh_ … Dean surveyed the room. Two queen size beds. Swallowing back his discomfort, he flashed his eyes over to Cas.

 _I can't sleep in the same room as Sam._ The silent prayer was accompanied by a significant look.

Making sure Sam wasn't watching, Cas faintly shook his head. Dean took it for what it meant: Don't worry, you won't be. Exhaling with an abundance of relief, he tried to focus on the case.

The suit he wore was an old one, the shoulders were tight, and the pants a little snug around his thighs but they'd have to do. They were headed towards the door when Sam stopped, blocking their path and pinched his lips together, his eyebrows bent inwards.

"Dean, I'm not necessarily one to make opinions on hair, but in the case of your face…" his brother trailed off and cast his eyes low in the direction of Dean's mouth.

Rubbing his face self-consciously, Dean turned to Cas. "Maybe trim it down a little?"

"Just so the cops don't get suspicious. Feds don't usually have monstrous beards," Sam said with a half-grin.

Castiel reached out and placed a hand gently to the side of his face. Instantly, the palm felt closer and warmer, the air of the room permeating the less thick layer of the beard in a way he felt immediately. Shifting back to face Sam, he presented himself. "Suitable?"

"You'll do," Sam conceded as he opened the door and they headed out into the dimly lit parking lot.

Trying your best didn't always produce results, as Dean was wonderfully reminded of at the police station. He didn't exactly go whacko or anything, but the bustle of people, and quick, jerky movements as they went about their strained lives made him edgy. He left the questions to Sam, with Cas invisible at his back. When the stress of the room forced his breathing to sharpen and shorten, he felt a weight against the middle of his back and knew that Cas was giving him something to ground himself with.

When Sam shook hands and offered up the expected 'We'll keep ya in the loop,' Dean became overly excited at the prospect of finally getting the hell out of this place. Following Sam's back they headed out through the chaotic environment, dodging people as they rushed about full of purpose. Dean had to curve the desire to sprint towards the exit when a tall woman bumped against him. It was absolutely ridiculous how much the touch startled him.

The energy of the police station, and its added strain on his nerves, slipped off the second he was out the door. Without over-thinking it, he went straight to the driver's side and got in. Dean paused when he realized the steering wheel was staring him in the face. Quietly, he muttered his apologies to Baby, running a hand over the leather-clad wheel, hating that he'd not driven her in so long. From the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Sam smirking from the passenger seat. Castiel's face and dark hair were a happy presence in his rearview mirror.

"So, not much to go on then, huh?" Dean spoke into the silence, drawing their attention away from the rekindling moment he was having with his car.

"Yeah, not at all. No one close to the couple has died in years. The last being the wife's grandmother, and somehow I really doubt granny was taunting the couple and then murdered them."

Dean nodded his agreement of that. It definitely didn't seem likely, though they had come across weirder shit than that. "What about the house?"

"No previous residents have kicked the bucket while living there." Moving on, Sam pulled out his black Fed notebook. "Alright, Carly lives at 108 Cedarview Drive. Head north from here and go right on Douglas Fir Road."

What was it with these new suburbia locales and their woodsy-ass names? Dean shook his head in passing annoyance and set them on their route to the neighbours. In the back seat, he'd been able to avoid things he hadn't wanted to see, whatever they may have been. Now, at each intersection, red lights took on the shape of fiery cascading hair, blue street-signs looked like glowing eyes of creatures. He saw both simultaneously; the trueness of the black roads, white streetlamps, three-coloured traffic lights and, also, the distorted malevolence of Hell weaving through the planes of reality. It took continuous effort to remind himself that it wasn't there, that it was only in his head.

Did this count as driving under the influence? Probably.

...

Carly was a petite woman, no more than 5'2 at most, Dean noted, looking down at her. The crown of her auburn hair was unruly and—he leaned closer—had some kind of cracker crumbs embedded in it. Carly was either a mom…or a slob. Not that he was one to talk; he'd gone weeks without showering. Of course he had his own private angel to magically scrub him clean without him even noticing.

Sam elbowed him as they stood awkwardly silent in the threshold of the double doors. "Uh, Carly?" Dean tried to smile, the woman shrank back liked he'd flashed her some fangs. He attempted to reset his face to charming mode but it probably didn't do much good.

"Yes?" she said dubiously, looking him over and up higher at Sam. Cas had gone all invisible again.

"We're, umm, Agents Bower and Ward. FBI." Dean gave the whole smiling thing another go. She tilted her head. "Right, yeah. So, we are investigating the deaths of your neighbours, Mark and Allison. Wondering if we could take a few minutes of your time?"

She glanced back into the house, a ruckus sounded in the background. Kids definitely, then, Dean decided. "Yeah, okay. Sure." She shuffled back and gave room for them to enter. "The cops already spoke to me."

"Yes, we collaborated with them earlier, and they missed a few questions we wanted to go over with you," Dean told her, slowly readjusting back into this type of interaction he'd nearly forgotten about.

"Please have a seat." Carly gestured into the living room, flushed red, and then rushed past them to clear the couch of toys and discarded clothes. "Sorry…kids," she explained.

Sam commented in some way but Dean was already distracted by the artwork down the hallway that he could from his vantage point. It was all red. Red with slashes of black and the occasional yellow. Dean wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, familiar with art, but even he could tell that the works seemed to scream violence. The most annoying part was that she'd probably picked them up for sale at some homewares store and thought they were all abstract and trendy. To Dean, they were unsettling. Lowering himself onto the brown, plushy couch, he shifted and then crossed his legs, earning a funny look from Sam.

"Ms. Kierney—"

"Mrs." she corrected.

"Mrs. Kierney, you knew the Andersons for how long?" Sam began, flipping his little notebook open, poised with a pen.

"Since they were married, moved in right after their honeymoon. Nice couple, really. Never fought, always willing to look after my kids." She paused and focused harder on Sam. "You know they never could have any of their own." The way Carly said it seemed to indicate it was such a disgraceful thing—not being able to produce a child. Like God didn't want you procreating if your body didn't cooperate.

"And they wanted to?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, pretty bad too. I heard they tried InVitro and everything—not something I agree with, but I supported them nonetheless. They'd even talked about adoption and surrogacy, but the money just wasn't there. Neither of them had great salaries. Together, they'd had just enough to buy that place. It's a pretty pricey neighbourhood." The last sentence was uttered with such disgusting pride. Dean wanted to curl his lip at her.

Sam mm-hmm'd as she went on, writing down whatever he thought was important, or doodling out of boredom when nothing seemed to crop up that was worthy of noting.

"Ever notice any strange sights, smells, see anything that caught your eye over there?" Sam asked after she'd given them more details about attempted reproduction than they cared to know. Not to mention going off on a tangent about how if God wanted you to have babies, he'd give you babies. All the talk of God really got to him and he was moderately relieved when he felt Cas touch the back of his neck. Debating how to answer Sam's question, the woman shifted uncomfortably. The reaction piqued Dean's waning interest.

"Umm, like how do you mean?" Her eyes dashed away from Sam's gaze.

"Just anything out of the ordinary," Sam said broadly, just vague enough to lead the conversation.

Fifteen minutes later they were walking out the door, heads cocked, trading uncertain glances with each other. Cas reappeared as they climbed back into the car.

"I think she's hiding something," said Cas, looking almost grumpy by the case.

"I got that vibe too." Dean agreed, then angled his lip up with a half shrug. "Then again, I get weird vibes from like razors and squishy food so I'm not really a reliable source." Dean's open articulation of his own psychological deficiencies were more frank than he'd meant and caused his muscles to bunch up. It took him a second or two longer than normal to get the key in the ignition.

"No, you're right. It was weird, I mean. She said all the right things, didn't mention anything abnormal. And yet, I've got that like, tickle, ya know? Maybe it was just her religious aversion to what they were doing, but something tells him she didn't like these two for another reason."

Dean shivered. Yes, he knew all tickles and religious aversion. "Can we please go back to the motel? I need to regroup or whatever. And before you say or give me one of those damn looks, please don't. I'm fine. Just…shut up."

It was obvious Sam was desperate to ask if he was hanging on okay, but instead his brother twisted in the seat to face Cas. "Take Dean back, I wanna check out the house," Sam said, inclining his chin towards the house of the deceased couple.

Dean went to reach out and physically stop his brother from exiting the car but he pulled up just shy of crossing the console. The movement was enough to get Sam turning back around anyway.

"What?" asked his brother, looking Dean up and down in the driver's seat.

"I don't like you doing this by yourself."

"Dean, it's just a ghost. I'll take the shotgun to look around, it's fine, that's all I'm doing for now."

Before _,_ Dean wouldn't have cared if Sam went to handle Casper all by his lonesome. Shit, Dean had handled his first when he was fourteen. But he was a different person now. And that person was more than a little edgy.

"It bugs me, okay?"

"Dean, I'll pray to Cas if I run into an issue. I promise," Sam offered to appease him. Reluctantly, Dean gave in and passed the keys off for the car.

A hand clasped his shoulder and the next second he was sitting at the end of a bed. Cas sat down beside him but didn't offer comfort by way of touch. As a result of the day's events, it was clear from Cas' distance that he was uncertain if Dean was in any mood to be touched at all.

"Talk to me," the angel said instead, looking to the side at Dean's profile.

Dean considered not saying anything at all, blowing the guy off. But after many chats with Sam, after how nuts he knew he could be in all this, he decided to spew out his mental garbage even though he hated Cas being a part of anything wrong about him.

"A little anxious is all, Cas. Edgy. Saw a few, um, inconsistent flashes with reality but I'm okay. I think." And then he back-tracked, "No, I am. _For real_."

"Good. See, this was a good idea," Cas stated positively.

Dean groaned. "Dude, really? Go knock on wood."

Cas angled his head, throwing him an odd expression. "Why would I do that?" The guy glanced at the wooden table by the door as though it would offer an explanation.

"It's a superstitious thing, and I can use all the help I can get. Go!" He shoved Cas, who took halting steps over to the table, glanced at it and then back to Dean. Deciding the whole thing was strange but harmless, Cas made a fist and rapped on the surface.

"That felt stupid," he stated as he made his way back to the bed.

"Yeah, well. Better off just in case." Dean scooted up towards the pillows. "Wanna watch something on the TV?" He grabbed the remote and hit the gigantic green button, the TV coughing up a crackle or two before the images flashed full to life on the screen.

" _Most people don't choose what they want, they choose what they think is safe."_ Oh, God. Had to be Dr. Phil, didn't it? Dean closed his eyes and flicked through the channels, changing them depending on the sounds and words instead of what he would've seen had his eyes been open. He heard the bed creak and groan, feeling Cas' weight dip it down repeatedly until the angel was settled on his right. When Bruce Willis' familiar voice shot into the room, he put down the remote and opened his eyes to see Die Hard 2, immediately recognizable from the violent blizzard on the airport runway.

Cas snapped his arm out to grab the remote. "Dean, this is violent!" he scolded harshly, trying to take the device that Dean had snatched up in anticipation.

"Yes, I'm aware. You and Sam also want me to fight a ghost at some point here, I think I can handle a little Die Hard, so get your grubby hands off the remote." Dean yanked his hand to the far side and placed it on the nightstand separating the beds.

Castiel made a string of faces at that point, mouth occasionally parting for words that never came. An hour into the movie, the thing almost done anyway, Cas clearly reached some unknown tipping point and turned fully sideways, the TV simultaneously shutting off.

"Hey!" Dean complained. Dammit, he'd been enjoying the movie. That crazy brain of his had shut off almost completely and it was a damn relief.

"Dean, I'm worried about you. I wanted you to move on with your life, get back into things, but now I fear that maybe it's too soon."

Dean snorted, repeatedly pressing the damn green button hoping the TV would turn back on. It didn't. He damn well wasn't about to admit that Cas might be right.

"I'm fine," he told his friend. A loose definition of one, but still.

"You know, whenever you and Sam say the word fine, it's always when you are not 'fine'," he air-quoted. "I'm beginning to think neither of you understand the meaning of the word."

Dean struggled not to lie, but keeping himself together took more than constant over-analysis of his current state, it took a 'Fake it till 'ya make it' mind-set. And he sorely needed that now. It was the only thing hauling his ass through the first hunt back.

Low on options for a suitable answer, he angled to the right, bracing a hand on the bed and kissed Cas softly. Breathing in deep through his nose, Dean's eyes drifted shut. Cas' scent filled him up, a wonderful warmth that relaxed his limbs.

Taken off guard, Cas flinched under him, but soon he was melting eagerly into the touch. Their mouths parted easily now, and he slipped his tongue between them, enjoying Cas' responsive moan. Without warning, Cas pulled back, wiping a hand over his mouth.

"I want to avoid a repeat of before," Cas said stiffly. Dean swallowed back his fears and went back to where he started. Meeting those cautious blue eyes, he made sure to show the angel how okay he really was with this. Because, in the moment, he very much was.

"It'll be fine."

Pressing in close, he licked alongside Cas' tongue, stroking it into his mouth. It was warm and inviting. Nothing like Dean had ever felt before. It drew him in with such passion that he realized, as his balance toppled, he'd been tipping them sideways, laying out in a stretch on the bed. They slumped the short distance to the pillows, arms and elbows adjusting in a crush against the bed and each other.

"Hmmph…" Cas distanced their lips to kiss the corner of Dean's mouth, then his cheek. Soft caresses that made Dean truly understand the concept of being valued. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve any of this. Out of nowhere, his stomach kinked up like bad indigestion and he could feel the slight tremble of his jaw. Cas' fingers trailed in smudges over his temples, below his eyes, across the dip in his cheek, and just at the line of where his beard began. They went over the course they'd mapped out with a distinction that suddenly drew his attention to the why of it.

Shit… He was crying like a damn sissy again and he hadn't even fuckin' known it. Now that he was paying attention, he felt the wetness—a cool sensation as the air hit moistened skin.

"Jesus…" Dean breathed, irritated with himself. "I don't even know why." A dumb laugh bubbled up. Mostly because it was just so ridiculous. Being all weepy and everything. And the shaking of course. Always with the tremors. But Cas never seemed to mind, never teased or toyed with him. Instead, Cas shushed him, laying sweet, gentle kisses to his mouth, calming his soul with the pass of a hand down his arm.

The break in composure didn't put on the breaks this time—No. This time, Dean used it. He let himself be pulled in deep by the emotions, let them fuel his grief and his guilt. The force of it allowed him to dive in with both feet.

The kiss turned passionate—a wonderful distraction for his body and mind. Exhaling all of his earlier frustrations, he grasped Cas' shirt and dragged him closer, crushed their mouths together, drove his tongue in deeper, tasted more thoroughly. The sensations of slick heat and heavy breathing commanded his senses. It was as if the concept of desire had stampeded back and demanded attention.

Their tongues slipped together with a sense of urgency, pressing and tasting, lips messy with spit. And he loved every second of it.

It happened without him noticing, but when sweat began to drip over his skin beneath his clothes, Dean realized that they were squished as close together as physics would allow. It was nearly funny. Smiling into the kiss, he shifted more, wanting to be closer. Cas' chest expanded quick with wrests for air and it did something to Dean. Cleared the fog a little, and he realized, sadly, that Cas' hands only touched him in a barely there way—sticking to places that were decidedly not sexual. All in all, he was mostly fine with that, but the hesitation in the touch, the uncertainty made him uneasy.

Knowing that the flow of pathetic from his eyes had not yet subsided, he made sure not to really look Cas in the eyes. "Touch me," he begged. "Anywhere 'cept down there." _Please._

The request was met with a weighted silence. Castiel shifted towards the edge of the bed, considering calling it quits altogether. Trying to puppy-dog-eye the guy, Dean just sat there looking helpless. For once he was in the moment—like _really_ in the moment. Well, not all of him, but hey, had to start somewhere. Cas couldn't back down now.

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Cas shook his head. The gesture was all about a kind of defeat, a giving in. And goddammit, Dean was going to take advantage of every damn moment he got.

Grinning, he vowed silently to do this properly. To make sure Cas' grace wasn't touched by all his rankness. Their physical interactions would definitely need to be limited. Dean _definitely_ wasn't letting Cas anywhere near _it_. And he sure as hell was staying away from places he'd already violated.

Unable to stand the quiet any longer, he said, "Just this, okay?" The vague words a kind of gentle assurance for both of them. Cas, too, needed to know that Dean wouldn't cross those boundaries. God knows the guy couldn't possibly want to touch the nasty on him, and there was certainly no way Dean was heading in that direction with the angel either.

Smiling in a way that conveyed a big fat yes, Castiel linked their fingers together, pulling their joined hands between them. Stretching forward to kiss Dean, he kicked his shoes off and Dean did the same.

A laugh tickled its way up Dean's throat when the first touch Cas initiated was their socked feet rubbing together.

"Sexy," Dean remarked timidly, blushing from his chest to the top of his head.

Castiel chuckled, more air than sound as he dragged his big toe over the top of Dean's foot. "This is more than enough for now," Cas said soberly.

From there, the angel continued to rub their feet together, teasing the sole of Dean's feet with his toes. Topping it all off, Cas got his heart fluttering with the most tender kisses, that were all about short soft licks into his mouth and their lips gently moulding together. It wasn't the way Dean had expected things to go when he'd decided on upping the ante on their approved levels of relationship baseball. Though he had to wonder, where exactly between the bases would footsies be categorized? It might seem mundane to anyone else, but for Dean, it felt incredibly intimate, and he decided he'd be down for doing it as long as Cas was up for it.

To Dean's great relief, Sam slept in a room by himself after coming back from looking at the house. He'd taken a few minutes in their room to say that for a couple who didn't seem to have immediate plans for getting a baby sure seemed to be set up for one. They were all planned to go back the next day.

There may have been two beds with only a foot or two between them, but Dean was content to continue their usual sleeping arrangements—both of them under the covers and touching in some way or another as long as he was comfortable with it.

/\/\/\

Around four a.m., Dean began restlessly lurching in the bed, his legs thrashing up and down, twisting the covers around as if he were fighting something off. Castiel held him still and tried to ease the nightmare with physical influence instead of mental interference. He afforded Dean his privacy, knowing how badly the man didn't want Castiel to see the things that had happened.

There was sweat glistening on his skin, his lower lip trembling in such a way that it looked like he were mumbling as he dreamt, even though no discernible words came out. The brief episode eased from his rigid form, limbs falling still. Dean's eyes opened in a flash, his breath slipping out in a rough tumble.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, looking up, his green eyes troubled by fear.

Castiel brushed the longer hair off his face, the sweaty dampness ensuring it stayed out of the way. "I'm fine," he insisted quietly. Dean lifted a hand to stroke Castiel's face reverently, his fear turning into thoughtful expression.

"I don't deserve you," Dean murmured, closing his eyes.

"Don't say that." Castiel admonished with a gentle kiss to Dean's cheek.

Dean, now fully alert, threw an arm behind his head and gazed up at the popcorn ceiling. Castiel let his eyes wander across Dean's face, only a little light streamed through the curtained windows. But he was still an angel and saw every line, every hidden thought pass through the face he knew so well.

"I looked in the mirror today." Dean angled to the side, meeting Cas' contemplation. "It's all different now. _Me_ …I'm different. But I feel like it's not all there. I look at my skin now and no one sees what I see. I've lived a harder life than what shows. It's a friggin' lie, Cas."

Readjusting, Castiel lowered his head into his palm, his elbow braced on the pillow beside Dean. "The scars on the inside don't reflect the image on the outside," he summarized, understanding the notion. His own past was etched onto his grace, but it never showed on his exterior. As an angel, the body was no more than a vessel. But over time, he'd come to identify himself as this, growing more and more attached to the skin he wore, to the face he saw in the mirror. After his grace had been returned to him, he could've done without the tattoo he'd gotten as a human, but for nostalgia purposes or who knows, he'd kept it.

"Yeah." Dean sighed, turning on his side and snuggling into Castiel's chest, his arm slipping over his torso, fisting a hand into Castiel's t-shirt. Cas dropped his arm down, sliding it under Dean's pillow and kissed the mess of kinked, damp hair below his face.

"It doesn't change how I feel about you," Castiel whispered, "I see everything you are and have been and will ever be, and it will never drive me not to love you."

Those blatant words seemed to halt Dean's breath, the man pushing in tighter against him. Dean muttered something against his heart that was too garbled to figure out, but the affectionate tone was distinctive enough. Before long, Dean fell back asleep and Castiel laid still until morning.

/\/\/\

Sam tried his best not be overbearing, hiding as much as possible from Dean how often he looked at his brother to make sure he was handling everything alright. The three of them went to the house the next morning to do a full top to bottom exploration in the hopes of finding something useful that might tell them it was a ghost and who that ghost was.

The EMF was pretty high, but so far no ghost sightings. Dean appeared calmer today than yesterday at the police station, moving through the house with the shotgun firm in his grasp. Seeing Dean with a weapon had given him a nauseous moment or two, remembering the last gun Dean had handled had been used to commit suicide.

"I got nothin'" Dean announced as he entered the dining room. Sam glanced up, straightening his own weapon so it wasn't pointing at anyone.

"Did you see upstairs?" Sam asked pointedly, rolling his eyes upwards. His older brother nodded, making a face.

"Oh yeah, if we didn't know otherwise, I'd say they were expecting a baby any day now."

"Agreed," replied Sam, growing suspicious.

Castiel abruptly appeared in the room, a light flutter signalling his arrival along with his commanding presence and wide eyes. "There's something you both should see." The second he said it, he spent a moment reading Dean, growing hesitant but deciding to let it slide.

Apparently taking the stairs would have been too time-consuming, Sam thought, as Cas transported them to the basement where Cas had lifted and moved what had formerly appeared as a cemented-in wood-stove, apparently _not_ cemented-in and only having appeared that way to whoever would've seen it.

Below it was a half-assed earthy stairway into some underbelly beneath the house. Sam threw a look over his shoulder at Dean.

"It's up to you man. I don't want to tell you what you're okay with."

With a grunt, Dean shoved past Sam and descended into the earth sideways along the steps, ducking as he went. The second he was subterranean, they heard his voice loud and clear.

"Oh my God…" And the words repeated, growing dissonant and pitched. Sam nearly leapt down into the cavern, practically sliding down the dirt stairs, with Cas efficiently zapping into the space. They found Dean holding his arms over his stomach, leaning hard into the dirt wall. His brothers' eyes were fixed tightly to the scene across the small room.

Sam followed the tract of his stare and knew instantly what had happened. There was a hospital bed with stirrups, bloody restraints hanging off the guardrails. A rickety, thrown together cabinet containing small vials and needles strewn about. A single bulb hung from a wire that weaved through the slats of thick wood beams braced under the basement floor above their heads. The bulb was flickering, buzzing like a fluorescent. At the end of the table, was blood.

A lot of it. As in, someone had died down here a lot.

Coughing drew Sam's attention around and he saw Dean doubled over vomiting onto the damp earth under their feet. Castiel was bracing him up and speaking to him in a low voice. After a minute or two, Dean unbent and tried to reset himself, despite the pale, green skin he was sporting.

The previous, steady flickering of the light increased ominously. Sam aimed his shotgun, Dean following suit with his. Castiel's angel blade, they'd learned, worked as well as iron with ghosts and he had it drawn and ready, flipping it in his grasp, his eyes narrowed like a mama bear ready to protect her cubs. Sam would have found it amusing if he wasn't so worried about Dean. Maybe bringing him along so soon wasn't a good idea after all.

A ragged scream ripped through the cavernous space, " _Stay away, stay away, you can't have him, not my baby, he's not yours, we are not yours. Never, never, nevernevernevernever…"_ The ghost chanted loud, items in the tight space getting thrown from wall to wall, thuds of instruments meeting a barricade of compacted soil and wood.

Sam raced back to Dean and all but shoved him up the narrow stairs. Dean and Cas made it through, Sam was right behind them when the heavy wood-stove slammed over the hole and he was thrown back down the stairs, his back thumping roughly against the ground, all the air rushing out of his chest.

_Goddammit!_

"Dean! Cas?" he hollered upwards. The lack of response frightened him. The sharp sounds of crashes above infuriated him. He whipped his head around the room and surveyed the space for clues. Anything.

Behind him, around the side of the earth stairway was a pile of wood. At first glance, it could've passed as leftovers from the construction of the shoddy space. But to Sam, it was just too cleverly arranged. Sam ripped through the slats, flinging them behind himself in another pile. It took him no more than a minute to reach the ground. It was darker than everywhere else, less flat, overturned. Maybe from a goddamn shovel? he thought smartly. Fuckin' hell, Sam cursed, realizing he himself had no shovel, not having expected to dig for bodies in the basement. Having to make do, he grabbed the widest, flattest piece of pine available and used it to dig through the earth hoping to God that this wasn't a six foot deep scenario.

/\/\/\

Castiel tried to light the apparition on fire but seeing as it wasn't the bones, it only forced the ghost to retreat for a few short moments. Of course, he could go help Sam but he didn't care for leaving Dean alone. He spun around, trying to keep sight of every spot in the room all at once. Dean was two feet in front of him, shaky hands on a shotgun ready to fire. Castiel didn't like this.

The ghost appeared just out of sight and tossed Dean hard against the far side of the room, ricocheting from the wall, landing on a table, before sliding off and taking a bunch of knick-knacks with him, glass breaking loudly. Castiel charged and thrust his angel blade, but he was too late and the ghost had learned quickly to steer clear. Faintly, he heard Sam yelling for him but he couldn't leave Dean.

The ghost returned; it was wearing a hospital gown soiled by a dark red splotch across the woman's abdomen. He imagined the woman had killed herself and the child within. Considering how the child may have been conceived, he regretted Dean being here. The angel blade was torn from his hand and despite his own powers, the ferociousness and anger of the ghost managed to throw him through the air into the other room.

The sound of Dean groaning, combined with a chorus of smashes, drove him up and flying back into the other room, propelling his wings into action. Dean's gun was out of sight, his face bloodied and swollen. It seemed the ghost had made quick work of extracting her anger towards men on Dean by repeatedly slamming his body against the drywall. As Castiel dissipated her for the fourth time, he looked back to see Dean barely conscious. The worst of it was the slight leer in the upturn of his split lip as he sunk down the wall to the ground.

Blade in hand, he stood in front of Dean as protection. He fought the spirit over and over, charging and dodging, waiting for something to change.

"Not yours!" the ghost screeched. "Not yours! He's mine! You can't have him!"

There was no reasoning with it, and with another swipe of his blade, it disappeared once more, only to recharge ten seconds later and come at him again. But this time, inches from his face, the apparition flared into licks of orange and red, fading into nothing for a final time. He hoped it would be at peace wherever it ended up. Unfortunately, he suspected this would not be the case.

The silence afterwards was shocking, interrupted only when Sam began to ram against the basement floor trying to escape.

"Goddammit Cas, get me outta here!" he shouted.

One look told him Dean was still out, so he hastened to the basement to heave the woodstove off the passage down. Sam glistened with sweat, bags thick under his eyes. One of his large hands bore a long gash, bleeding steadily.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he reached out to heal the younger brother. Sam blinked his relief. Together they made their way back to Dean.

Thankfully, he made it to Dean before Sam did. It happened the same as before—when Dean had been beaten by those criminals. The men that were still very much on Castiel's hit-list. Crouching, he cleaned Dean up with a thought.

"Shit, is he okay?" Sam asked urgently, moving in beside him to help haul Dean up from the floor. The rest of Dean's injuries he healed then, watching as green eyes fluttered open. Alarm set Dean's eyes wide, chancing a quick glance in Sam's direction before meeting Cas' eyes as they moved quickly through the room to the stairs. Silently, Cas tried to convey that his secret was safe.

Quicker than Sam would notice, Dean's eyes darted down and back up to Cas with confusion. Lips tight, he shook his head no as the three of them began to climb the stairs to the first level. The support they'd offered was unnecessary, and Dean shook them off the second they were at grade once more.

"I'm fine. Let's just get the hell outta here." His voice was gravel-rough and deep, pushing his way past them and out the door.

Sam leaned over as the door slammed behind his brother. "Is he really okay, Cas? I feel like I missed something."

Patting Sam on the back, he replied, "He'll be alright. Don't worry. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect but, I suppose it could've been worse." Much worse.

When they exited the house, Dean was already in the car. In the backseat, he sat silently, blank-faced all the way to the Super 8. When Sam turned the car into the spot in between their rooms, Cas rounded in his seat to say something, but he was left with his mouth hanging loose, watching as Dean nearly leapt out the back door. The door to their room was shut before he'd even made it out of the car.

With a grimace, he said, "I've got this."

The frown Sam wore was heavily lined, words sitting on his tongue but left unspoken.

"Fine," said Sam. "Take care of him, alright?"

I'm trying, he promised.

/\/\/\

Fuck, I'm disgusting, Dean thought, shaking hard enough he could barely get his clothes off. He made odd, strangled sounds, his voice ragged, puttering in wordless noises, like the sound people made when they chattered in the bitter cold. When he was finally naked, he cranked the hot water on, steam filing into the room quickly. Stepping into the shower, he barely flinched from the scalding spray.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked himself. Just the way a nightmare lingers, he could still feel the echo of his sticky release inside his jeans. It was long-gone now. Cas having taken it upon himself to get rid of the evidence of Dean's unbidden reaction to being thrown around and beaten.

The pain had felt good, _so_ good. Better, even, than he remembered.

And with it, came back all the things Abaddon had done with him, stroking a release from him even as he'd screamed those very few times. The hot water turned his skin bright red, and still, he shivered like he were buried under a snowbank. Feeling weak-kneed and a bit light-headed, he decided he should sit before he collapsed and smoked his head on the tiles, killing himself in the most stupid way possible.

The water beat down on him, prickling his skin where it hit, each heavy drop making him angrier and angrier with himself. The incessant pitter-patter finally drove him mad enough that he leapt up in search of the damn rubber stopper. He started throwing things around the room, water too, as it flung off his body as he moved about.

"Fuckin' _Goddamn_!" Not finding the stupid thing, he grabbed a face cloth and the shitty, over-scented bar of complimentary soap and snatched his jeans from the floor with his other hand. Pulling out his pocket knife, he carved the shit out of the soap, the slimy bar and water serving to make his whittling dangerous. "Arrgghh!" Dean growled like a madman. He sliced himself by accident. But in the end, he managed to shape it anew. He wrapped it up in the facecloth, stepped back into the tub, lowering to his knees and rammed the fucking contraption into the hole, pounding it with his fist to get it sufficiently stuck. "Get the fuck in there, you motherfucking piece of shit!" After repeated beatings of the tub's drain, his jerry-rigged stopper seemed to get with the program and stay where he'd smashed it.

Dean slammed the heel of his palm on the lever over the spout and the water redirected in a thick flow into the tub, drabbling to a stop from the shower head.

He's breathing was loud and ragged, his blood diluting into the rising water level. The hot water burned the shallow cuts he'd gotten from fuck-knows-what. He forced his breath to draw out, using sheer will to control his lungs instead of his panic. When the water reached his chest, his body began to let go, the muscles of his thighs flickering in flashes before softening. Closing his eyes, he laid his head back against the tile, trying to find his "center" or some granola shit like that.

What had that yoga chick said that one time he'd gone with Lisa? _Imagine your lungs are a flower, opening up wide for the sun, breathe in those beautiful rays of light…_ Bla, bla, bla… He let out an amused smile, pondering the hour-long stretch session. Strangely, the funny little memory calmed him.

He'd almost fallen asleep from exhaustion when he heard a light rapping on the door. The water was nearly running over the sides.

"What?" he croaked.

"May I come in?" As always, Cas sounded worried.

Dean looked down at himself, seeing _it_ there limp between his legs, he covered himself with his hand and decided that was enough, Cas had already seen it all anyway. The water slipped over the lip of the tub before he responded and the soft splashing was enough to have Cas coming inside anyway, looking purposely off to the side.

With a flick of his wrist the water stopped, the floor dried and Castiel stared at the ceiling. "You're bleeding," he noted.

"Not on purpose," Dean answered, floating his hands through the water and watching the blood mix with it.

"I know." Cas moved towards his head by the tub, lowering down until he was seated on the tiles. Absently, he tapped Dean's shoulder to close up the wound on his hand. The water magically turning crystal clear. Tilting his head quizzically, Cas squinted at the drain between Dean's feet.

"Quite the creation. I imagine that was the cause of all the banging around in here that I heard." Castiel said, finding it all, no doubt, amusing.

"Couldn't find the stopper."

Castiel reached behind him to the folded towels on the rack over his head and lifted the white circular piece of rubber that was apparently set on top.

"You mean this?" Cas said with a grin. Mildly enraged that the fucking thing had been right there, he watched Cas flick his fingers around the stopper. The thing poofed into nothing. "Never mind."

A forced, dry laugh cracked out of him and he passed a wet hand over his face. "Did you just smite the drain plug?" he asked tiredly.

Castiel smiled at him and then sighed, facing straight as he pushed his chin out. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Interested, he let his head fall to the side, eyes lazily taking in Cas' profile. "You know all of mine," he admitted. And didn't that ever suck some serious ballsac.

The confession didn't come out right away. In the meantime, Dean watched him, taking the opportunity to stare without repercussions.

"I went to see you once. When you were only an infant," Castiel said in a whisper, not bothering to face Dean as he spoke.

Whatever he might have thought Cas would admit to, it sure as hell wasn't that.

"Why?"

"When I knew…what these feelings were," Cas rubbed his chest through one of Dean's cream-coloured dress-shirts. "I felt the urge to return to the beginning. I can't tell you why. I'm not sure I even understand myself. Emotions are…complex."

"When was this?" asked Dean, absorbed with Cas' words.

"Several years ago."

 _What the hell?_ Several…years?

Dean knew things between them had a certain vibe for a while, but it wasn't until Cas had gotten into his head that either of them really ever admitted to it. He wouldn't have thought Cas had actually known for so long. Man, all the times in the past that Dean had stood a mere foot away from the guy, letting his mind wander. Had Cas always known where his head was at? A small voice taunted him that it was all a lie, that Cas had never thought of him as more than a simple brute—Heaven's blunt weapon. It took less to ignore her voice this time.

"Hmm." Dean chewed his lip, trying to think what the old him would have said to that. "Ya know, it's a little creepy right? Spying on babies and whatnot."

Castiel grinned, looking down at his hands. "You were quite tiny as a baby. _Very_ fragile." By the squinty expression, Dean imagined Cas was picturing it all over again. Probably, the guy wondered how Dean ever made it to adulthood in the first place. Dean often wondered the same.

"Sam doesn't know," said Cas, his tone indicative. Dean knew precisely what he was referring to. Not trusting his voice, he nodded his appreciation.

Apparently satisfied that Dean wasn't about to slice his wrists in the bathtub, and also wasn't rocking back and forth like a psycho or something, Castiel stood and walked towards the bathroom door. Stalling as he stood between the frames, he turned back to meet Dean's eyes.

"Coming to bed soon?"

Dean tried to smile. "Yeah…in a bit."

The door clicked shut and he gazed at the water swaying with the movement of his chest. He swirled his hands around in idle patterns before reaching up to the rack where the stopper had been and snagged a hand towel, dunking it into the water. Dean scrubbed himself harder than necessary, subconsciously trying to rid himself of the hidden memories that existed on his skin. A shower would have been preferable in the whole getting clean business, but sadly, he lacked the energy to stand for any length of time.

Gathering the remnants of his bruised dignity, he got up to his feet, swaying as the blood drained from his head. Reaching down into the water, he tugged on the cloth to extract the half-ass soap-fabric stopper. Damn thing was really in there. Dean cursed as it finally came free and the water gurgled and burped as it funneled down. Staring at it, Dean tried to picture all his dirt flowing down the drain too.

He toweled off, grumbling when he realized he had no clothes to put on. Right on cue, a pile of folded items miraculously appeared on the lid of the toilet. Smiling, he snatched the boxers on top. Wobbling off balance, he fumbled his tired legs into the holes and glanced disdainfully at the rest of it. Too exhausted to pry his way into clothes, he left the remaining pile on the toilet and exited the bathroom in only boxers, trying not to feel weird about being so naked. Frig, Cas had just been in the bathroom with his stark-naked ass anyway.

The air was cool against his skin. Daylight still glowed yellow through the curtains, but he couldn't for the life of him guess what time it was. Certainly not time for bed, though. Not that he cared in the least.

With Cas' eyes on him, he crawled into bed, his body sighing into the warm safety of the soft mattress and heavy blankets. Dean fell asleep in the middle of the day, his half-naked body curled into the warmth of Cas' solid form next to him.

/\/\/\

Sam was halfway done his third glass of whiskey when the phone rang. He answered, expecting it to be Jody since he'd asked her to call him as soon as she got his message.

"Hey babe," he greeted. The answering accented voice definitely threw him.

"Oh, darling, did you miss me?" Crowley tittered over the line.

"Crowley, where the hell are you!?" Sam whispered harshly.

An exasperated huff blew against the phone. "Here and there, Moose. Doing good deeds and all that. You'd be proud." There was a brief pause. "So! I hear you've been looking for me," he teased.

"Yeah, I have. We need to meet up, Crowley. I need your help with something, and if you really are all about doing good deeds than this has got to be number one on your list from here on out."

Crowley laughed. "You think so, huh? Well, it just so happens we might be after the same thing. Tomorrow, Buckhorn Grill in Walnut Creek. Know the place?"

Sam did the math in his head. The only way he was getting their tomorrow was flying. Maybe he could get Cas to bring him without telling the angel why. Either way, he would make it.

"I'll be there."

 


	26. Another Love I Would Abuse

Sweaty and limp-limbed, Sam rolled off of Jody and spread out on his side of the bed. The woman of his affection panted breathlessly beside him, a hand reaching over to rub his chest lovingly.

"Hmm… Good morning," she hummed, stretching out the post-sex kinks.

Sam turned to her with a distant smile. The sex had been great, as it usually was, but he'd been distracted. His conversation with Crowley weeks ago had been plaguing him. The ex-King hadn't given him much more than he already knew—suffice to say that Crowley was hunting down these Lesser creatures that he maintained were cropping up all over the place now—explaining to Sam how to recognize and kill them if he found himself confronted with one of them.

The discussion of Lessers had switched to the Omega and Heaven, yielding fuck all to Sam's disappointment. The strangest part of their meeting was Crowley segueing to ask about Dean and Cas after talk of Heaven. At the time, he'd thought nothing of it. Especially as the inquiry was followed up with questions about how he and Jody were doing too.

After touching base on Cale's body, the Gatekeeper, and Crowley's new position as a hunter extraordinaire (his words), they'd parted, with Sam at least getting a number by which to reach him now.

In the quiet of their room, Sam could feel Jody's searching eyes, looking for clues about where his mind had wandered off to. He turned to face her.

"He didn't give me anything," said Sam; a repeat of his words when he'd first gotten back from his trip.

"I remember." As his thoughts whirred, he felt her gaze sharpen.

"The thing is though, I think I gave him something _he_ was looking for," Sam pinpointed. They both turned onto their sides, hands propping up their heads.

"What do you mean?"

"He asked how Dean and Cas were doing, and something about my answer seemed to please him. I didn't think to ask at the time, but I have a feeling Crowley might know the secret Cas has been keeping. Or at least know something more than we do that's for sure."

"Maybe he only knows as much as we do—that it _has_ to do with Dean. He may not know what it is at all." Jody always enjoyed arguing both sides. She said it made for better analysis of ideas and theories.

"Then again," Sam debated, his words turning up in volume as the idea gained momentum in his head. "Crowley had been the one to decode the words of Metatron's spell!"

Abruptly, he sat up. The realization hit him square in the face.

"Jody! What if Crowley'd lied? What if he knew _exactly_ how to fix Heaven, but never said a damn thing. Lying about how it was 'irreversible' for the same reasons that's keeping Cas shut-up about it?!"

Jody absorbed his building excitement with careful consideration. But the more Sam thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Crowley _knew_ something. And he was sure as hell going to find out what it was. The ex-demon was human now, so Sam wouldn't torture the guy, but he'd find a way to get that info somehow.

"Okay. I'll give you this much, it _does_ make sense that Crowley wouldn't have said anything before, he wouldn't have wanted Heaven opened up then. But, to be fair, we don't even know how much he cares about that now Sam. Just because he's human doesn't mean he's a good one."

Sam made a face. "He's hunting…" That had to rack the guy some bonus points anyway.

"Riiiiight…" Jody raised a brow. "And would you say _all_ hunters are good, decent human beings?" She quirked her lip. " _Or_ … would you say there are a great number of them who do it because it gives them an opportunity to live off the grid and kill things on a pretty regular basis?"

The answer to that was kept well behind his teeth and tongue because Jody's implication was dead-on. Hunting evil didn't equate to being good by a long shot.

"Still, it's worth having another chat with Crowley."

"I fully agree. But be careful… Cas can't know," she reminded in a whisper.

Decided, Sam picked up his phone and hit the green call button after pulling up Crowley's contact.

It rang twice, and then he heard: " _Welcome to Moosehead Brewing Company, Canada's oldest independent brewery—"_

"—That fucking shit!" Infuriated, Sam growled and rammed the end button on the screen a little too hard with his thumb.

Jody laughed. "Did he give you a wrong number, Sam?" she teased, snaking her fingers up the back of his head into his hair and tugging playfully.

"Shut up!" he snapped playfully. Wearing a devilish grin, he rounded on her and grabbed for her thighs, throwing them aggressively around his hips. Sam kissed the smile right off her face. He was hard already and looked into her over her face before starting to nudge at her, glad they hadn't bothered to get out of bed yet.

She smiled impishly, licking across her lower lip. "Twice in one morning… I'm a lucky woman."

Sam sheathed himself inside her in a slow glide, stretching her out around his cock. He moaned as the pleasure trickled up his spine. "No, I am definitely the lucky one," he said, kissing her on the nose and then the forehead.

The sex this round was playful and teasing, starting out slow until Sam sat up, pulling her with him. He raised up on his knees and angled her out in front of him. Jody kept one arm on the mattress, lifting herself off it, the other grabbing onto his neck, her legs linked around his hips.

"Fuck… I love this view." Sam gripped into her skin and thrust into her fast and hard, mixing in slow, drawn out slides at random intervals. His words triggered a tightening around him and Jody threw her head back, her body twisted to hold herself up. Goddamn, this woman, he thought. Beautiful beyond measure.

How had he gotten so lucky?

Sam increased his pace, enjoying the rough crashing of their hips together, the feel of himself going deep. Jody cried out, a mix of curses and his name. Smiling wickedly, he glanced down to enjoy the sight of his hard length coursing in and out of her slicked up sex.

"Sam! Ahh, God… Fuuuuck!"

He went harder still, grunting with the effort, angling a bit with each thrust to change the pressure around his cock.

"Holy Christ, keep doing that!" she screamed and Sam lost it, going ballistic—their bodies slapping together obscenely; her skin reddened and damp, splotchy around her hips and thighs from his hands. Knowing she was so close, he reached down and thumbed at her clit, losing his tempo but loving the way she bit her lip and her eyes rolled back. In seconds, he had her writhing on his cock, yelling from the dual assault.

Jody's slick walls gripped him tight, her torso lengthening as she pulled taught and then a pulsing beat around his shaft, milking him to completion.

Sam roared as his release came jetting out into her, his body shaking. Sweat poured down his chest as it pumped up and down struggling to catch a breath.

"Fuck, s'good. _Hmmph_ ," he said, out of breath, licking his lips and swallowing dry. Shuddering, he pulled out, the slick heat of her a little too much for his oversensitive cock. Jody collapsed below him and he saw some of his release trickle out of her onto the bedspread.

" _Ugh_ , we need a better system. I washed the sheets three days ago!" Despite the complaint, Sam wore a self-satisfied grin. Arguably, it was good problem to have.

With a snort, Jody burst out laughing, curling onto her side. "Imagine if we lit up a black light in here!" She barked another few laughs, slapping Sam's bare thigh.

He joined in, giggling himself. They had definitely done a number in his bed that was for sure. And of course, the kitchen island a time or two. He fondly remembered the suspicious look Cas had sported the second he'd entered the kitchen the next day. The angel had touched the surface of the table and then glared at Sam.

"I think I'd be proud," Sam smirked.

Jody huffed, shoving him good-naturedly. "You're so gross, Winchester," she teased. "C'mon, let's get out of bed and try to find a way to track down Crowley. I doubt we'll have much luck, but it's worth trying."

/\/\/\

After that first hunt, Dean found his life took on a more tranquil nature—much to his surprise—having expected some serious kind of backslide after the ghost had beat an orgasm out of him. Trying to explain the quiet in himself, he wondered if it was the familiarity of hunting as a whole (not including his reaction to the beating of course). Maybe it had been the presence of Cas and his brother, there at his back, as he'd needed each of them.

Everything seemed smoother and less tense, even the nightmares didn't seem as bad as before. But the best part was that small amount of control he'd managed to gain over his own fears. Sure, it was all still there—simmering under the surface—but he used his life-long, perfected abilities at denial to shift all his perversions and his pathetic freak-outs into a neat little box. The box rattled at times, but he could handle it.

Hopefully.

But now that he had his own shit relatively under some level of control, it became clear to Dean that the universe still hated his damn guts.

The more he seemed to get better, the worse things got out in the world. At this rate, he'd never catch a frigging break. Once, _just once_ , he'd thought that, maybe, one day things would get better. Evidently he must have been stoned out of his tree with that notion because the world wasn't that generous. Not to him anyway.

Dean could sense the growing evil in a way he never had before. The feeling was subtle, like knowing it would rain by the smell alone before a single drop fell. A war was coming and he would be a part of it. It didn't matter how broken he might still be…he had to keep going. Keep on relocking that goddamn box, hoping that it never exploded into total ruin of himself and those within the blast radius.

Every day, he still went down into the gym. And he still ate better than he used to. Into the second week of March, as the air began to warm up, he attempted to eat his first burger since getting back from Hell.

He saw it as a bit of a monumental event—or a challenge—smiling at his own progress.

Alone in the kitchen, Dean squinted at the mound of round doughy bread and crumbly meat glued together with egg and breadcrumbs. He gave it the evil eye for about five minutes before lifting it off the plate.

Taking that first bite, his teeth sinking into the familiar texture, meaty juices and strong flavour pouring onto his tongue, Dean moaned.  _Oh my God!_ It was fucking glorious! Why the hell had he been denying himself? What had he been afraid of? Swallowing thick, Dean took another bite, rolling his eyes back and he knew he'd gained back some really important marbles. Crucial marbles, actually.

Just as he was moaning, yet again, around a mouthful, Cas strode in. Dean glanced up, abashed; his cheeks puffed out and full of burger.

"Well, I never thought the sight of you stuffing your face like that would bring me such immeasurable joy." Cas smiled and sauntered over.

When Dean's blue-eyed savior was near enough, he reached out one arm and pulled Cas against him, setting the burger down. Swallowing down the hefty bite, he licked his lip—missing the smear of mustard and kissed Cas. The touch left the angel with a glob of yellow near the top of his lip.

Snaking his tongue out, Cas licked it off, immediately scrunching his features into a sour face. "Oh. Definitely not a fan of mustard. Your mouth on the other hand..." Cas trailed off, returning to Dean's lips zealously.

The burger was quickly forgotten in the place of Cas' passion and inexorable need. They'd been settling into a good routine.

Or so he thought, anyway.

He'd gone on another hunt since the last and it had gone okay. Not great, mind you, but okay. Better than the first time at least. Sure, he wished he'd been more help, but he'd been freaked about having another incident. God, it was embarrassing. Was it possible to trade in perverted quirks? Ad for Kijiji: Offering up beat-down spontaneous orgasms, will trade for pissing the bed during a nightmare. Throwing his stupid thoughts to the side, he got back with the program.

They made out slowly, unhurried against the kitchen counter until, as expected, Dean pulled away. Grumpily, Cas let out a little whine, seeking out more like a horny teenager.

"Hey, take a breather, Cas. I'm gonna go chat with Sam for a bit, k?" Dean stroked the length of Cas' arm, squeezing the guy's hand before he started off towards the far side of the kitchen. Halfway to the archway, Cas called him back.

"Wait—" Castiel dashed over the few feet and tugged on his shirt, snaking his arms around Dean's middle in a hug from behind. Jaw tight, his expression stiffened, holding back the urge to shove Cas off him.

They'd laid out boundaries but Cas seemed to keep trying to inch past them. The why of it, he didn't know. But each time they had these moments together, Dean could sense the angel wanting to reach out and touch, or be touched, and it was beginning to unnerve him on a regular basis.

The push-push-push aggravated him. Had they not concluded that, like a boxing match, everything below-the-belt was off limits? It was better that way. It was the only way, he corrected.

"Pick a movie or two for later, we'll hang out then." Not wanting to hurt the guy's feelings, he gently twisted out of the hug. Guilt and irritation followed him all the way to Sam's room.

/\/\/\

I'm absolutely disgraceful, Castiel thought, slowly beginning to hate himself. He stood there, desolate, for several minutes after Dean was gone.

At first, he'd tried to tell himself that his persistence was because of his well-kept secret. But after a while, the ruse was lifted and he realized it was simply his own desperation for Dean that had him clawing helplessly, always at Dean's retreating form.

It was bizarre, really. The closer they got, the more Dean kept pulling away. It didn't surprise him. Of course he had reasons—good reasons—for being reticent about physical interaction. Castiel tried hard to be accommodating, but it seemed the more his body got a taste of Dean and the tender relationship that had built between them, it wanted more and more and more….

Until _all_ this thoughts were a consuming plethora of desire filled with skin and sweat, the graze of breath puffing against the hollow of his ear, the feel of Dean rubbing against him, the scent of their mixed pheromones.

He wanted Dean to _want_ him. The way Dean used to look at him, with that undeniable heat in his eyes, was acutely missed.

To assuage himself, Castiel had taken to falling into what people called daydreams, finding joy in the imagination of possibility. Visualizing specifically what Dean's arousal would feel like rubbing naked against his own.

It wasn't all about the sex though. The basis of it all was the key. To watch Dean be overcome with bodily pleasure would mean the man was happy, finally comfortable again in his own skin. Naively, he thought that he could love Dean so much, show it so exhaustively, that it could heal both of them of the past.

But whatever this relationship was becoming, Castiel knew it wasn't normal. He'd expected as much, but living it served to be more frustrating than he would have imagined.

Every single time they kissed, he became achingly hard—No matter how badly he tried not to be. And each time feeling worse than before. Not once did Dean react that way. The symptoms were there; quick breathing, a needy tongue, hands tugging and gripping at his clothes. But even with the incontestable desire, there was no real arousal evident on the other side. Feeling Dean against him, the wet, softness of his tongue, the intimate sensation of Dean's breath hot in his mouth…it drove Castiel mad.

Frowning, he glanced down. His frown deepened bitterly.

The reaction to his most current daydream was displayed fully in the obvious bulge of his pants. Self-annoyance burned hot from inside until his skin turned red. He thought he'd been in love with Dean before, but now things were so real, so tantalizingly close to being fulfilled that the longing had risen to unbearable levels. His love for Dean had swollen; stretching out the confines of emotional capacity that was a concept he still had no real understanding of. The result of this pressing, inescapable emotion left him impulsive and marginally inconsiderate. For that, he detested his evident lack of willpower.

Turning up to the ceiling, he briefly pondered the intangible concept of needing someone. Willing his erection gone as best he could, he headed back to his room.

/\/\/\

Dean knocked on the closed door, hearing muffled giggles from his brother and Jody. He shook his head.

I am not jealous, he argued internally. Some relationships were easy, some were not. Whatever his brother had behind that bedroom door was not in store for Dean. Though Cas was, for all intents and purposes, a kind of lover—weird as that might sound—the actual reality of a true physical relationship was…well… it would never be…like _that_ , Dean thought as he stared at the door.

After two long minutes, Sam cracked the door a sliver, his hair sticking up in all directions. Jody, wearing rumpled clothes, shuffled past Dean with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry," said Sam, with an awkward down-curve of his mouth.

"No worries. Um, got some time?" Dean asked, glancing into the room, seeing the unmade bed. "Hey, actually, you know what? Let's not do this in here anymore. I'm really sorry, Sammy. I never should have brought this shit into your room in the first place."

Without thinking, Sam reached out to grab his shoulder. The look on his face must've been something because Sam stopped short, his expression softening on a dime.

"It's fine, Dean. Don't worry about it. How about the file room on the second level? There's a couple chairs and a sofa in there, I think?" Sam offered, leading Dean down the hall.

As they made their way to the stairs, Dean realized he wasn't sure what he would say today. His daily chats with Sam had been one of the things about his former routine that he'd let go of a little. Every day turning into every other day. As his dignity or self-awareness slowly returned, he found it harder and harder to say anything about what had happened. It occurred to him that he was embarrassed by it, ashamed of the things that he'd let her do. More so considering she'd made him enjoy it. But now, he just felt wrong. Kind of…dirty about the whole thing. Ok, maybe a lot dirty. Downright contaminated, actually.

The room, discovered sometime during his darker period of time over the early bits of winter, was loaded with tall beige filing cabinets, lined up along the long sides of the room. A couple rectangular tables were set up down the center. A box half rummaged sat at one end of the first table. In the very back of the long room, were two big brown chairs straight out of the sixties, and a flower-power couch shoved against the back wall between the chairs.

Dean went for the chair on the left. There was no way in hell he was taking these chats to full on psych-patient-doc territory and laying out on some couch—let alone one that looked like a spot for hippies to smoke dope on.

They were quiet for the first few minutes, sitting in their respective hideous recliners, not meeting eyes.

Sam coughed to break the silence, looking to Dean to start things off. Dean fixed his stare on the ceiling and uttered the first random thought that cropped up. "Why'd she have to do both?"

"What do you mean?"

Dean felt his breath trip-up as images paraded around, flipping from wrong to wronger. "You know, she couldn't have been consistent and fucked me up one way! _Noooo_ …" he intoned sarcastically. "Bitch had to go and twist me up into a backwards fucking sex Rubix Cube."

Sam laughed. "That sounds like a really complicated Kama Sutra position."

Dean grinned his relief at the comedic interruption. "Sam…" he sighed, trying to get back to serious.

"Sorry, man. Look, I don't know Dean. She obviously really hated you. I mean, you were a threat to her, you know that. It's why she went for you. We were her biggest enemies next to Crowley."

As Sam spoke, Dean's brows pinched together and he realized how wrong his brother was.

"You know what? She didn't hate me. Maybe in the very beginning, but really? In her own fucked up way, she loved me. Half the things she did, especially in the end, she did because she thought she was rewarding me. At the time, I might've agreed." Damn, he forgot to bring music. With only their voices to focus on, he was split wide and raw. The prickling, itchy sensation he used to get in waves flared up. Trying to ignore it, he shifted unsatisfyingly in the chair. The temptation to ball himself up was strong, but he didn't enjoy feeling weak near his brother anymore.

Sam reared back at the words; the disbelief written all over his face. "Loved you?!" he screeched.

Yeah, it sounded crazy. Truth was, Dean _knew_ her. Of course she'd loved hurting him, making him scream those few times. But the more she broke him, the more he felt her become attached. Her specific tortures turned adoring in her own twisted way, even as they were fucked up to the n _th_ degree. She thought the two of them were some unified power. On some level, they'd become just that. It was twisted shit, that was for damn sure.

"Dean, she did everything she could to break you! Not because she loved you, but because she wanted to use you. That's the truth." Sam fixated on him, a stern eye imploring Dean to accept his take on the truth.

Superficially, Dean relented with a nod and a shrug. Even though he didn't truly believe it. When he'd said yes to Cas back there in Hell, reluctantly deciding to end it all, Abaddon had been torn, heartbroken in her own capacity. He recalled every word she'd screamed in his head in the seconds before everything went black.

_"Dean, I thought we were in this together… We're so good together. Why are you doing this? Look at all I've given you. I've made you better! Dean! Dean! Noooo! I command you to stop this. Baby, lover, if you do this, I will find you one day, and I will make our time together look like a trip to Disney Land. And you know what, you'll still love it! Just as you love me… Don't do this. Dean! Please, Dean! Deeaannnnn!"_

Flinching, he switched back to the present to see Sam narrowing his eyes. There was something on the tip of his tongue to say, but nothing ever came out and Dean was grateful. He was sure he didn't want to know what it was.

"How are things with Cas?" Sam asked instead.

Dean smiled, happy to change the subject. "Fine."

"Fine?" Sam repeated with an odd, doubtful smile. Inwardly, Dean grimaced.

"Look Sammy, I'll sit here uncomfortable as all hell and talk about all this shit because I know I have to and it's good for me and all that BS, but don't push me to talk about me and Cas unless it's necessary, alright?"

Sam adjusted in his chair and met Dean's eyes. "And if you hadn't responded so damn defensively, I probably would have let it drop, but now…"

Good one, Dean. "Sam…" Dean groaned. He was beginning to really hate being the broken man in their misfit family.

"Fine, whatever," Sam offered up his hands in surrender. "I won't push it but something is bugging you. Just don't let it fester, Dean." Ugh, yeah, yeah…

Dean got up to leave, having had enough for the day, even though it had only be a few minutes. When he was halfway across the room Sam called out. "I might have found us another hunt… if you're up for it?"

Turning his head to the side, Dean dipped his chin once, continuing after in a brusque walk out of the room to go off to do something alone. He veered left to the end of the hall, took the stairs, and went straight into the locker room, shucking his jeans and throwing on his black nylon gym shorts.

The vast space was open concept, institutionally lit with fluorescents. He made his way over to the back wall where the rows of various dumbbells were neatly lined up. He grabbed two twenty's, sat at the end of one of the benches and started up some curls.

Halfway through the fourth set, ready to switch to a lower weight combo, he paused midway. The weight shook as his right bicep began to quake with the strain. Finding that he was dreading going up to his room after, he realized that he couldn't shake the image of Cas' pleading look out of his head—that bare-faced desire. If he'd been normal, it wouldn't been ramping him up. Instead, it was really starting to piss him off. Personal space and boundaries were never more important than they were now.

Dean couldn't handle the thought of anything more intimate between them. Christ, the knowledge of what had been done to him was like a sickness. Having Cas too close to that made him want to hurl. There was no denying he craved the comfort Cas provided, but lately, the angel's desperation was eating away at the calm atmosphere that normally accompanied Dean's interactions with him. He prayed that Cas would back off a bit, take this for what it was or they were going to have a serious problem.

/\/\/\

That night, after watching the first few episodes of a new series on Netflix, some program that Sam had set up for them, Dean had the urge to ask Cas to stay in his own room for the night. But then he remembered how often he was still tormented by nightmares and decided against it.

The walk to Dean's room was laced with tension; the entire ten foot journey all Dean could feel was Cas' eagerness for the two of them to crawl into bed. Twice he almost rounded on the guy and threw a punch. Violence is not the answer, he told himself, sounding very Dr. Phil.

Dean closed his eyes as he reached for the band of his jogging pants that had been thrown on after his shower. He'd been sleeping in boxers since after the first hunt back, but tonight he felt uncomfortable getting that close to naked. Too exposed, and he fucking hated it.

Goddamn box of crazy.

"Fuck," he cursed roughly.

Cas glanced up from his stance on the far side of the bed clad in only Dean's faded blue band t-shirt and Dean's loose plaid boxers.

"What's wrong?"

Chewing his lip, he shot out a quick reply, "Nothing. Never mind. Let's just go to bed. I'm beat."

In quick, jerky movements he took off the layers, not meeting those watchful eyes and got under the covers, turning away towards the wall. Dean was well aware how this would make Cas feel. For the last couple of weeks, they'd been kissing in bed. It had become a curious ritual; more expected than sexual on his part. When it turned into making out, Dean allowed it to continue until he got overly warm and then he'd stop, say good night and fall asleep. Not to be mistaken, he enjoyed kissing Cas. As pathetic as it was, he usually felt safe when Cas was wrapped around him. But whenever it got to be too much, he backed off into his own bubble.

It did seem to be happening more frequently though.

The tension that radiated from Cas quickly became it's own tangible presence, felt all the way on his side of the bed. Goddamn, this must be how married people feel, he thought humorously. Dean cringed. He wanted to scream.

"I'm sorry… I know I'm not handling this well," Cas said quietly, startling him.

Stubborn as a bitchy housewife, Dean ignored the guy. Fuck, he was suddenly irate, and truth be told, he didn't even know why. Yeah, so Cas had been giving off the 'Let's-go-to-second-base' vibe. Why the hell was he so reluctant to even consider it? _Oh, right!_ Because he was littered with the remnants of gross and perverse. How could he have possibly forgot!

Going full circle, the anger bounded back on him, spinning from Cas-hate to self-hate, and back again. Come ride the hate-train, all sons'a'bitches welcome!

"Dean, please talk to me. I don't know how to do this."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Dean tersely shot over his shoulder, hating the way his voice cut into the space between them. Why was he being such a dick?

As expected, the angrier he got, the more he tried to pull away, the closer Cas would shuffle over to him. Reaching over, the angel hesitantly grasped his arm. "Dean, talk to me." The plea was seconded with a squeeze of his forearm. Nearly begging him to turn over.

Slamming his eyes closed, he felt the burn that signaled he was on the verge of tears. For this, he no longer bat an eye because, fuck, it was probably Thursday. Better shed a few. _Jesus_ _H_. But at least the impending threat of waterworks fuelled him on. If I'm gonna throw a fit, he thought, might as well go all out!

"Why the fuck are you being so needy? Christ, just back off," he snapped. Now hating himself and pissed-off at the only person who ever put up with his bullshit.

Awesome, Dean. Just…awesome.

Fuck. That definitely got Cas to quiet down though, the room filling with the worst kind of silence.

Goddammit! Dean cursed himself. He fucking _knew_ this would happen! His selfish ass let the angel stay, and he let things get complicated. Now, naturally, Cas expected more. To be fair, a small part of him wanted that, but the more real the possibility became, the more he feared its actuality. And yet Cas kept pushing, and pushing! As if he didn't notice the erections popping up every goddamn time they kissed…

"I thought this was okay…" Cas' voice was rough, afflicted with rejection. "Before, in the motel, you wanted more. I thought… I mean, I know things need to go slow, but I feel like you just keep pulling away from me more than ever. What's changed? What'd I do? What can I do?" The questions were reasonable. Too bad Dean wasn't. Things had gone wrong as he knew they would. He felt genuinely sorry that the angel had fallen for such a dud of a human.

"I don't know," Dean gritted through his teeth. "I'm not a fucking angel, Cas. I'm not clear-cut like you!" he yelled, getting out of the bed and stalking over to the dresser, yanking a drawer open and throwing on the first piece of clothing that had leg holes. He heard Cas get up as well.

Here we go…

"Dean, calm down, what are you trying to say?" Cas lowered his tone, managing to keep it together. Unlike Dean.

"I'm trying to tell you that I _might_ —one day—be okay with a little more. _Maybe_! I don't know, Cas!" He threw his hands up. "But, fuck, I can't deal with you looking at me, with fucking stars in your eyes no less, and expecting me to fucking rock your world! Okay?! That's the damn problem!" Dean raked his fingers through his lengthy hair, gripping it at random. "Every goddamn day, I can feel you wanting and wanting and wanting. And it kills me… It _kills_ me, Cas, that I can't do anything about it! I don't know how anymore. D'you get that?!

"Do you know how hard it was just to kiss you? And that was just a frigging kiss for chrissakes! The thought of anything beyond that—even if I _do_ want it—is goddamn terrifying for a shit-ton of reasons! But I can tell you this much," his voice turned hard, "whatever _might_ happen, it will never involve, uh, _this_." Dean glanced down with a wave of his hand. "Not ever. So get that through your head now. You wanted to stay—Great. I'm a jackass enough to let you, but I won't go there with you. I can't. I won't." Dean reached for the doorknob, missed wide and punched the door, grabbed again and yanked it open, throwing himself into the hallway and slamming the door behind him.

He found his way into the lower levels of the bunker, ending up in the gym, not having any recollection of the journey down. He didn't turn on a single light.

Walking over to the mats, he lowered and curled on his side, letting his exhaustion and the goddamn crying that had started up somewhere along the way conk him out for the remainder of the night.

 


	27. Trust I Seek, and I Find in You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and beginning quote is Metallica's - Nothing Else Matters

 

> _"Every day for us something new…"_

A sharp pain throbbed along the outside edge of his hip. Sluggishly, he attempted to readjust to a new position only to realize how hard the goddamn mattress was. With a flash, his eyes opened and the previous night came rushing back like a slap to the face. The guilt overrode him, forcing his eyes to slam shut, closing out the darkness of the room. With no windows and no lights on, the only dim glow came from sporadic floor lights at intervals around the perimeter of the room.

Dean flopped onto his back, letting his arms and legs settle wherever. He'd spent the whole night down here by himself. Cas had never come down to see if he was okay. Cas had never come down at all. Even knowing there was a good possibility for nightmares…Cas never showed. And man, did that ever hurt.

Oh fuck, Dean sat up.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck…

What if he'd left? What if Dean had really screwed up this time? The shakes started up, and he couldn't stop them. Dean was torn between running upstairs and hollering the angel's name like a desperate prayer or trying to take it like a man.

"Ugh!" Dean rubbed at his face and collapsed back onto the mats with a _fwump_. The blue pads puffing out nasty air beneath him.

Against his gut-instincts screaming at him to go apologize his ass off, he got up and walked over to one of the machines—some kind of ab-curling contraption. Ridiculous. Dean scowled down at it. _Nah_ , he preferred plain-old weights. Meandering over, grasping the right combination of heft, he started up some squats. On the fifth set, his thighs burning already, he glanced over to the far side of the gym. The lights were still off but he could see his guitar set up in the corner, random papers surrounding it with his hand-written notes. It had been a couple days since he'd picked it up. The recent distress he'd been feeling partnered better with unbreakable weights than it did with a delicate, generous gift from his brother, that his rage could easily reduce to splinters.

Starving and trembling however many hours later, sweat streaking down his over-heated skin, a sound brought his head up.

Beyond the dark expanse of the gym, Cas stood on the farthest side by the door wearing Dean's black jogging pants from the night before and a thin green t-shirt. Dean swallowed thickly as they stared at each other.

Shit, was Cas coming to say he was takin' off for good? Not that Dean would've blamed him.

The angel came over. Dean let the weight fall from his fist, clunking loudly onto the thin black rubber floor. He angled his head towards the general direction of Cas' face, but was too upset to find his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Dean… I didn't mean for it to be like this. I try not to think about those things around you… I do! I don't know what's wrong with me! I've never wanted anything more than I want you, but I'm-I'm happy no matter what. I'm _so_ happy Dean, just knowing that you want any part of me at all. It's enough. _Really_."

Guilt tightened Dean's throat. God, they were so fucked up. Correction: _I_ am so fucked up. Not Cas. Cas was perfect. Moving automatically, wondering where the courage had come from, Dean took two steps and captured Cas' shocked expression between his broad hands.

"No, it's not," he said gravely. It's nowhere near enough.

He dropped his arms to take Cas' hand, leading him to where Dean had crashed the night before. Reaching the stretch of mats, he tugged on Cas' fingers gently, trying to wordlessly convey his intentions. Castiel met his shifting gaze with a head-tilt, squinting adorably.

"Lay down." Dean muttered in a low whisper. "Umm, please. If-if you want…"

Cas, being who he was, stood there, regarding Dean with an absurd-looking curiosity. Finally, just as Dean was about to give up, Cas dropped awkwardly, stretching out onto his back—stiff as a damn board.

It said a lot for Dean's current seduction skills that they both looked like they were about to get a root canal.

Joining him on the floor, Dean went down on his knees, settling to the left of Cas' body, trying to wrap his mind around his intentions.

"I do want you," he confessed. Grazing the back of his knuckle along the inside of Cas' arm, watching the muscles flinch as he passed. "But I'm not all here anymore, you know that. I need to try though. With you, I _want_ to try. You deserve so much, more than I'll ever be able to give you." Dean swallowed, shifting back on his heels. "You're friggin' breathtaking, you know that? When I was really fucked up? In the beginning… Half the time all I could think about was how gorgeous you are. It was all twisted and perverted of course, but it was there." Dean shuffled on his knees, reaching for the wide band of the jogging pants.

Cas' breath stuttered so Dean blabbed on, "You were so bright, like a damn beacon amidst the crazy." Dean pulled the fabric down to reveal the plaid boxers from the night before. He scuffled towards Cas' feet, pulling as he went. Chancing a quick glance to make sure Cas was okay, he saw the confusion and wonder strain his expression. Probably wondered what the hell he was doing.

"Before all this… I thought about doing what I'm about to do. Mostly the logistics. Cause I'm, uh, well, I _was_ inexperienced. In this department at least." Dean folded the jogging pants into his lap and chuckled in an unhinged kind of way. "Got lots of experience now, huh? Not that I want to draw on that well." He frowned. "Sorry, didn't mean to go there."

Meeting Cas' laser-focused stare, he said, "I never want all that," he waved vaguely behind him, "to be part of this." He gently nudged the foot by his knee. Cas moved his leg out, gathering obviously, where Dean was going with all of this. Dean tossed the pants to the side and moved up between the inviting, parted legs, his brows furrowing.

"Um, please stop me if you don't want me to go any further. Or maybe just stop me if you get a clear head about all this." Dean looked up to see Cas lick his lips.

Please say something.

When Cas finally did pipe up, his deep baritone sounded raw. "Dean, I'm here with you no matter what, if you want to touch me, then God, _yes_ I want that. But if you're only doing this because you think I'm going to leave, then stop."

"I'm doing this because I want you to feel good." Dean rubbed his mouth like he could wipe away the memories attached to it. 'Least it was better than down there. Nervously, he grabbed the boxers and pulled them down and off. Castiel's length was half-hard already, laying there against his lower belly in a slight curve. Seeing Cas exposed to him, willingly, was like a dream. And still, he needed more. Biting into his lip, he leaned over and tugged twice on the hem of Cas' green shirt. Getting the hint, abs flexing as he sat up, Castiel pulled the t-shirt over his head and tossed it behind him.

"I wish I was…I dunno…virginal or something for you." Dean wiped his mouth again and bent down. "There's something I never thought I'd say," he murmured quietly to himself.

The sound of his name breathed across Cas' lips enthralled him as his own mouth touched the silky skin covering the bump of Cas' hipbone. Eyes closed, Dean kissed the ridge, feeling a rush of gratitude that Cas was letting him do this. It took greater strength than normal to push aside wayward thoughts but he focused on the smell eventually, and that helped.

Cas always smelled so goddamned warm. Perfect. A bit spicy sometimes, like sandalwood, or the essence of the earth and sky or some other gay-ass analogy.

Dean sniggered, his breath puffing over the dip towards Cas groin. _Ha_! Gay—And so the thoughts go as I'm about to suck dick, Dean thought. Well, at least laughing like a lunatic to himself was better than other ways this could go.

With rapt attention, his lips traced invisible patterns over Cas' perfect hips and lower abdomen, avoiding—for now at least—anywhere else. He didn't touch with his hands yet either, his mouth was soft—he knew that. Women had always said so. When he ran out of kissable geography, he paused and glanced up. "Shit, sorry."

Placing his hands on either side of Cas' head, Dean lowered until their lips grazed. "Should've kissed you on the mouth first, huh?" It was so easy to forget how this normally went.

Castiel blushed, arching up and taking Dean's breath with a searing kiss, a tongue moving hungrily into his mouth and Dean sucked on it. He pulled away before the kiss distracted him too much and crawled backwards to the heavy sex waiting for him.

Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on Cas' thighs, meeting the blue watchful stare. He smiled. "Um…I hope this doesn't suck." And then he snorted a laugh at the absurdity of his words.

Arching over, Dean got up close and personal, face-to-face so to speak. It looked good actually; thick and inviting, twitching under his halting assessment. He flicked out his tongue and licked from base to tip; the salty, warm taste of Cas making his mouth water. Dean licked over the ridge and into the slit with the very tip of his tongue, the bit of beaded liquid lighting up his tastebuds. Taking a breath, he sealed his mouth over the head, and felt the heat of it consume him.

It didn't take long to get addicted to the feel of Cas' engorged cock weighing heavy in his mouth, to the salty come weeping from the end, teasing his senses. Moving up and down, his wet lips rubbing over the shaft, feeling the skin move over the hard core of it, made him breathless. Pulling up, his lips glided over the ridge of the head, moulding his mouth to the shape and committing every inch of Cas' sex to memory.

Lost in his mind, it took Dean a while to notice that Cas wasn't making any sounds whatsoever. Glancing up from between lean, muscled legs and a rich scent, he realized Cas was crushing his teeth into his lower lip—the strain of keeping quiet and immobile evident in a stiff expression.

Holding those tortured eyes, Dean rubbed him from pelvis to sternum, the angel's body arching into the touch. "Don't hide from me," Dean pleaded. "This is the only part of you that's just for me. That no one else gets to see…please, please don't take that from me."

Castiel released his lip, the plump curve filling with blood and turning red, a gush of breath rushed out of him. "I… Dean, no one's ever done this to me before," he admitted, reaching up to run a hand through his dark hair in a nervous human gesture.

"I know. I wanna make it good for you. Don't keep quiet. I wanna hear you… Everything. If you want me to go faster, or slower, or suck harder, tell me." Or get the hell off...

Cas stared for the length of a heartbeat before reaching forward and grabbing Dean by the face, pulling him upwards with impossible strength and kissing him loudly on the mouth, little eager smacks as he pressed and pulled back. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Each one melting him.

"Everything you're doing feels phenomenal. Please don't stop," Cas urged, his voice thick.

Encouraged, Dean moved back down his body, kissing along the line of his stomach downwards until the head of Cas' cock hit the underside of his chin. Tipping his head to his chest, Dean took it into his mouth. The first suck down, his tongue skirting along the underside, he heard a little timid moan from above. He tightened his lips, gripping the firmness and sucked more, earning a less-shy, more concentrated sound.

The more turned on Cas became, the thicker his scent filled Dean's nose, making him dizzy-drunk, laving hungrily at the thick length funneling into his mouth as he bobbed up and down. His lips, coated in his own spit, were stretched wide, thrumming from the silky feel of the thin skin covering Cas' hard cock.

Dean's lungs ached, not stopping often enough to breathe. Air wasn't important. Sliding over the ridge, his lips brushing the plush head, he pulled off just enough to suck back a lungful before he passed out. He'd been intent to get right back to it, when the image struck him: Cas was arching, flinching, endless breaths being choked by arousal, ragged moans uninhibitedly rolling from his pink mouth.

It was quite the sight...

Grasping at Cas' thighs, Dean focused back on the head, licking and sealing his lips around it, turning around over it, eliciting wonderful sounds from his angel. Nervousness crept up on him in the moments Cas went quiet, until he realized Castiel was so strung-out with pleasure that his fingers had dug into the blue mat, creating rips in the thick plastic.

" _Dean,"_ Cas gasped roughly, a hand coming up to grip at nothing, falling back to the mats.

Emboldened by the reactions, Dean hummed over the shaft, cautiously going deep, finding it didn't terrify him as much as he might've thought it would. Gratefully, he was able to keep the past away from this moment. His thoughts solely focused on the soft skin, and hard sex of someone he loved, and those blue eyes cast low to stare at him. It was intoxicating to be on the receiving end of a look like that from Cas. Dean wasn't sure what the angel was thinking as he hesitantly moved his hand to wrap around the base and slide up and down with his mouth, the thick coat of spit and precome serving as sufficient lube for his hand.

"I…" Cas raised his hand; a half-closed fist beside Dean's forehead. "I want to touch you, please can I touch you?" Castiel begged, his blue eyes glazed and dark. The low light across his smooth skin gave him an ethereal appearance.

Absolutely, unquestionably… _beautiful_.

Nodding with a full erection in his mouth felt funny, but he did it. Rationally, he knew Cas wouldn't push him down or anything, but the fear of it definitely spent a second or two flashing in his head, causing him to flinch and his heartbeat to race.

Delicate, gentle fingers slipped into the longer sections of his hair at the front, sinking across his head. Dean's eyes drifted shut and he sank down low, his nose burying against the heady base, coarse hair tickling his lips. Sealing his mouth and cinching up his throat, he all but hugged Cas' entire dick with his mouth, loving it more than he would have expected. It was like a small amount of all the bad things he'd done was being chipped away by giving this small bit of pleasure.

Prickles of sensation danced over his scalp with Cas' light grips and muted scratching with blunt nails, sending goosebumps tickling down his spine. Dean went faster; his fist and mouth working together, tasting up every inch, squeezing out precome into his mouth as he went.

"Ohh-oh-fuck…uh-hmmm. De-ean, Dean wait, I'm—" The body beneath him pulled into a straight line, with the exception of a knee cocking out to the side. "I think I… I think I'm… uhhng…"

Slowing down, Dean mouthed and sucked the crown while his hand stroked the thick base, riding Cas to the edge. A low-grade panic sent his heart racing as he felt the arousal twitch and harden tellingly in his mouth, inexorably terrified that bad things might happen for some stupid reason. Clamping down on his fears, Dean relaxed as best he could and waited.

Cas breathed out his name in a broken whisper, sounding like a sob.

The first pulse of come flooded his mouth, thick and strong. Dean swallowed the first rush, and still more came, spewing against his tongue, coating his teeth. Rough gasps and muffled, wet moans reverberated around the large cavernous room.

When it was over, Dean pulled off and heaved gulping breaths, his arms jittery holding himself up. Dimly, he could sense Cas shuddering still; a leg twitch here, an ab flex there. Glancing up he saw lazily fluttering eyelids and a head tipped back, mouth parted wide.

Castiel reached up to rub his own face, stroking back into his damp hair. His legs pulled up on either side of Dean, bracketing his torso. Strong thighs squeezed tight around him and dragged Dean forward, right over top.

"Cas?" Dean threw his arms out to stop his fall. He crashed to his elbows above Castiel's shoulders, glad for the padded floor. "You okay?"

"Hmmm…" Dark blue eyes found him and Dean was relieved to see joy in them. Total bliss actually. For the first time in who knows how long Dean felt a genuine smile stretch his mouth out.

"Goddamn, you're hot." Dean dipped down to kiss Cas' dry mouth. Licking inside, their tongues pressing together, Dean kept himself poised awkwardly off the body exposed beneath him. He didn't want his weight, and specifically his groin to touch Cas like that; it would only ruin the moment.

The man in question chuckled, his elation showing all over his features, as he tried to pull Dean down. "No, Cas." Keeping still, Dean kissed him deeper and harder, trying to distract him now more than anything else.

Friggin' angel strength, Dean cursed silently as Cas yanked him down, his knees sliding low and hitting the mats.

Dean froze.

Oh god…he felt it. No idea when the fucking thing had decided to perk up and say hello. But after months of laying limp between his legs except under horrid circumstances, his cock was up and had just poked into Cas' naked lower belly.

Dean scrambled off, parking his ass three feet away. "Sorry, sorry…" he rambled. Cas sat up, shamelessly naked, his damn cock still glistening from Dean's mouth. Crawling over to him, Cas grabbed his face and forced their stares to lock.

"What's wrong?"

"I just rammed you in the stomach with my cock," he blurted. His face was on fire. Fucking thing was still rock-solid in his gym shorts. Great timing, asshole.

"So?"

"So, I said I would keep it away from you." Dean wished Cas would let go of his face, he felt way too exposed with those damn eyes boring into him.

Cas sighed heavily, his eyes slamming shut. He spoke without opening them. "You realize that's not what I want, right? That's all in your head, Dean. I would love to be able to touch you, to kiss you there, to feel you finish, knowing that I was the one to bring you that release." His eyes opened, crisp blue, searing like they were searching his soul. Dean bet it looked all sorts of mangled and black, like a burnt turkey burger or something.

How the hell could Cas ever want to suck his dick knowing it had been used to rip into him? Dean tried to get up and hightail it outta there. Castiel halted his escape. "Stop and talk to me. I don't want you to pull away like you did last night."

Shit, if the old Dean saw who he was now, the guy would probably laugh his ass off. _And then beat the shit out of me_ , Dean added.

"I'm sorry," he said again, short on any other words.

"If you apologize again, I will leave," Cas threatened jokingly with a smile, rubbing a thumb over Dean's bottom lip, still sensitive from the blowjob workout.

"Just, um, not yet," he qualified with a downward glance, knowing Cas would understand.

"Ok then," Cas replied curtly. Nearly formal, save for the grin.

Dean stood, aware that the stupid thing was still pointing out from his groin like the mast of a pirate ship. Quite something of a look that his nylon gym shorts really didn't help with, loose as they were. He reached down and pulled it up close to himself, looking down awkwardly at Cas.

"Ummm…give me a minute." Dean walked away to the doors, his cheeks red, the back of his head tingling as Cas' stare traced his exit.

In the locker room, he found himself in the showers, water cranked high and hot, his clothes discarded on the floor.

Stealing his breath, he looked down. _Yup_. Still ready to go. This really shouldn't be so weird, or so awkward. Christ, it's your own dick, he thought. Get a grip. And ya know, literally, get a grip. How many times in the past had he jerked-off? Likely a thousand or more. Probably more if he were being honest.

Okie dokie.

Dean grabbed himself… _annnnnd_ stayed hard. It was a fucking miracle. Alert the press! Getting started, he made sure to picture Cas' blissed out face and nothing else. Soft, loose passes of his hand slid up to the head and down to the base. He didn't dare try anything adventurous like playing with his nuts which he used to enjoy. The longer he went, the more the blood drained from his head. He searched out the slick tiled walls to brace his other hand on. His erection felt hot in his palm, unnaturally thick, or perhaps he'd forgotten the feel of himself. The water from the shower-head pounded against his back, running in gushes over his ears and muting other sounds.

Each time he peaked into the crest, his orgasm withered back. He tried to chase it with a faster pump of his fist but it did nothing. He grimaced, biting his lip, feeling how bad he needed to cross that finish line. If he stopped now, he'd feel like a failure. Which was sort of ridiculous considering this seemingly momentous task, was nothing more than mundane masturbation. But that was how goddamn broken she'd made him. Couldn't even fucking get himself off anymore.

 _Great_. Now he was angry, and frustrated, taking it out on his dick, making dumb faces at the wall.

A subtle throat-clearing stopped his hand. He didn't dare turn around. "Cas, I'm fine. Just go."

"You've been in here a while," Cas noted, sounding a good ways outside the shower area.

Gee, thanks for noticing. "Yeah, this is awkward enough as it is. I don't need updates from Captain Obvious, alright?"

"Do you remember that dream?" Castiel asked in a wistful tone. Dean looked forward, staring at the tile blankly. His cock twitched in his palm.

"Yes…"

"I wanted to kiss you more than anything. But I was so worried about you, and I wanted it to feel real. Now, knowing how it does feel, it's distracting. I realize finally why humans are so enamoured by sex and love, writing endless songs about it since the dawn of time."

Huh… Cas' voice was kinda doin' it for him. Dean started up again, trying not to feel embarrassed about touching himself as Cas chattered away behind him. Besides, stranger things and all that…

"You were very voracious in that dream, boldly propositioning. I was so naïve, I didn't get it right away—though you knew that."

Dean gasped with the peak of arousal; it didn't abate this time, but stayed high and teasing. "You- _hmphh_ were s-so adora-ble." Wow, Dean, terrible word choice. _Adorable_ was not what he should be saying right now, not that he was fully cognizant by any stretch of the imagination.

"You always overcome everything; you never back down from a fight. This is just a very different battle." The sound of Cas stepping closer had Dean going faster, surprisingly turned on but not sure how much more he could take.

Still facing the back wall, his forehead resting on the tiles, eyes down, he let one hand stretch out behind him in a 'stop' signal. "Keep-keep talk-ing," he stammered, flinching with the attention, trying to disassociate from the other times he'd been on display.

"What you did earlier… Dean, I've never experienced anything like that. And it was all you. I felt powerless and yet stronger than God simultaneously."

Dean pictured it, recalling every detail, reminiscing the scent of his groin, the thick taste of his come pouring down Dean's throat. The little moans and gasps growing louder and more primal as he'd neared the point of pulsing ecstasy. Dean's breathing suddenly became a struggle and he could feel his release trapped in his balls, but so damn close.

"Please turn around if you're comfortable enough. Look at me," Cas asked so nicely, so calmly that Dean found that he could oblige.

With a deep breath, he shifted around on his bare feet, meeting Cas' eyes, never letting his hand stop. Cas—God bless him thirty times over—did not once glance down and gawk. He fixed his blue eyes on Dean's green ones and stayed there.

Their gaze intensified, standing several feet apart. Despite the lack of touching, nothing had ever felt this intimate before. Cas' vivid familiar gaze bored into him and like a slap to the face, his orgasm soared off unexpectedly. Dean's body torqued forward, hips jerking, come spurting out in arcs down towards the wet floor tile.

Dean shook, continuing to touch himself in jerky pumps of his fist, his mouth gaping open, wrenching every last shudder out of himself until he had nothing left and crumpled from fatigue and hunger, his body letting go in more ways than one. Castiel vanished and reappeared to grab him before he hit the ground.

A giggle ruptured out, and he realized he felt drunk. "It's cause you're so hot." Dean muttered randomly, laughing. "She was all demented and super thorough, but you're _soooo_ good. You're healing me with your awesomeness." He laughed some more and Castiel steadfastly ignored his sudden bout of crazy, wrapping him in a towel that seemed to appear out of thin air.

Gravity released him and he wondered what the hell had happened. Oh, right, Cas was carrying him. "Where are we going?" he asked, peering up at Cas' impassive face making their way through the halls and up the stairs.

"To put you to sleep and maybe eat something, I haven't decided which is more important yet."

"Oh, food! God, I'm _staaaaarving_!" Dean spouted excitedly, his head woozy and light. But also heavy.

"Ok, food then. What do you want to eat?"

"Pie." He laughed, letting his head plunk down onto Cas' shoulder.

"Pie it is."

Later, wrapped up in the bed with a plate of warm apple pie in his lap, pillows piled up behind him, Dean's sanity gurgled back to life. His eyes darted over to Cas and then back to his plate, repeating the motion in succession.

"Uhm, sorry?" Dean worded the apology like a question, immediately shoving gooey, sugary deliciousness into his mouth—not even sure anymore what he was apologizing for. Pie was another category of food he'd steered away from, but right now? He couldn't recall why, cause damn this shit was good!

Castiel groaned and plonked down onto the bed beside him. "Eat your damn pie, Dean."

Dean barked a laugh, crumbs shooting grossly out of his mouth. "Mmoe'kay," he mumbled, eating more. First a burger, then Cas' dick, now some pie? Dean was doing pretty damn good this week. But, that didn't mean it would last.

After the plate was clean and the bed was not, he turned to the side with serious contemplation. "Okay, eager-beaver, just so it's being said, don't assume everything is going to be smooth sailing from here on out."

Cas nodded, straightening up. "I won't. Promise."

"What time is it?" he asked. It'd felt like hours had gone by since he'd woken up on the mats, but who knew. This place didn't have any damn windows.

"Almost four."

Goddamn, the whole day was gone. "Was Sam worried?" Dean patted the blankets beside his hips with a random beat.

"No, he's been distracted by other things lately."

Ah, right. Jody.

/\/\/\

And those distractions, Castiel thought, were very worrisome. Sam couldn't know everything. Not yet. _Especially_ not after today. It was much too soon. Overhearing earlier in the day that he'd met with Crowley was a problem. Cas was sure the ex-demon knew more than he should. He feared even that Crowley might know it all.

He prayed that the new human—with hopefully a decent conscience—kept his damn mouth shut, with any luck, understanding the repercussions of letting certain truths free before their time. But praying wasn't enough. Castiel knew he'd have to pay Crowley a visit in the very near future.

For the time being, he was content to relish in the events of the day. Dean was obviously a little anxious and embarrassed, but overall put-together. If Cas left now though, no matter the reason, Dean would get the wrong idea and any progress they'd made that day would crumble like the tower of Babylon.

So he pushed his worries aside, and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him down against his chest. He tightened his hold, hugging Dean in a way that was beginning to feel so natural and wonderful.

"Feel free to take a nap," he suggested, raising one hand to run it through Dean's uncharacteristically long hair.

The man all but purred against him and Castiel found himself laughing softly. He kissed the crown of Dean's head, resting there a moment after pursing his lips. He huffed a breath into the damp locks. _The degrees to which I love you are astounding…_ Castiel thought as his heart felt like it was expanding to accommodate the strength and breadth of the emotion.

"…Love you too," Dean slurred, half asleep.

Evidently he'd spoken aloud. Oh well, it wasn't a secret. He spent the time during Dean's nap smiling like a simpleton, not giving a shit about Heaven, or Lessers, or the Omega, or any wars building in the trenches.

Dean loved him. Dean wanted him.

Nothing else mattered.

 


	28. Something for Me

Crinkled lines at the corners of known green eyes captured his attention. Sam smiled at his brother, enjoying the beer he swallowed as they stood, side-by-side, like the good old days.

"Dude, that was awesome!" Dean grinned, sipping his light brew.

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it? Man it feels good for things to be normal again," Sam chimed in, running a hand across his jaw. He turned to Dean, "Really, you're good though?" he asked for tenth time, getting a hateful scowl from Dean.

"Relax, Sammy. Yeah, I'm cool. Those vamps were hilarious! Man, they really took the whole 'creatures of the night' thing a bit far though with all the black and coffins. So lame!" He cackled, gulping back more beer.

Castiel had left them when the hunt was done; giving them time to do their own thing and Sam was appreciative. Looking back, Dean slicing off heads with expertise and no apparent hidden pleasure from it—at least no more than normal—was an immense relief. Even Cas seemed to think everything was going really well.

But the better Dean got, the more it seemed to annoy him that they kept on asking, but after remembering how Dean had been in the beginning, Sam couldn't help it. The crazy thing was, they were closer now than they'd ever been. It was so wrong of Sam to be thankful for that, considering the cause.

/\/\/\

Dean was wired and bouncy. In all the good ways, and it felt great. He'd managed a hunt without getting weird or emotional and _hallelujah_ for that! The beer tasted great. Sam's company felt like a breath of fresh air, and he and Cas lately had been fantastic. Cas valiantly tried to keep his raging hormones under control and Dean tried not to panic whenever they thought about doing other things.

Not that they'd actually _done_ other things yet.

Still reticent, Dean kept making excuses and knew Cas would catch on soon enough, if he hadn't already. There were a list of possible reasons for maintaining the status quo, but part of him—that frightened little boy part—was still cowering in a corner somewhere in his subconscious, utterly panicked about screwing it up or getting all pathetic and running away like a moron—arms flailing comically, probably.

There was no anger this time around though, just really solid hesitation. In moments like this, he found he rarely thought about how he used to be, taking his new personality quirks in stride. Much of his free time was spent playing the guitar, and he still worked out every day he could, excluding days consumed by a hunt.

The two of them chatted or were silent as the mood struck them, and after a few hours and a couple beers, they called it in. The three hour drive back to the bunker was quiet, Dean intermittently humming out a tune he'd been learning, tapping his fingers on his knee.

An idea kept resurfacing in his mind, like a whale breaching water, splashing everywhere. Glancing sideways at Sam, he asked, "You ever thought of getting another tattoo?"

Sam pulled a face and looked up to the side. "No, not really, why?"

" _Eeh_. Just wondering I guess. Something that's been on my mind," replied Dean, watching the landscape rolling by. Mostly evergreens and the sides of blasted rock-face left over from the creation of the road. It was the only brief break in an otherwise flat landscape from here to their part of Kansas.

"Of what?" Sam wondered, eyes shifting from the road to Dean for a quick second.

Dean shrugged, lacing his fingers together. They stayed quiet for the rest of the journey. But Dean still couldn't get it out of his head. Ever since seeing himself in the mirror that first hunt back, he'd felt a distance from the man he saw and the man he felt he was. Like the picture wasn't whole somehow. At first, he'd believed it all boiled down to the memories encased in nightmare realities that couldn't be seen from the outside. But as the idea lingered about markings and memories, he tried to tie down the most important of them. The one thread of his life that, could his soul be dissected, that particular mark would be what they saw.

He rubbed over the back of his neck and leaned against the side of the seat, taking the stretch of nothing to spend with his thoughts on the angel he'd likely find in his bed when he returned. Dean smiled as he remembered the first time his musings had taken the direction to gay-town. Nearly laughing out loud, he instead pressed his lips harder together, not wanting to have Sam asking questions or wondering about his sanity.

_October 2009 (2014)_

_Okaaaay…_

_So, 2014 Cas lived in a hut with a beaded curtain? Dean stepped through the clinking links with apprehension, not sure what he would find. The angel, normally so indifferent and composed, was seated cross-legged on a tattered carpet over worn hardwood surrounded by hot women. They exchanged an odd greeting, Dean wai—_

"— _Why don't you all get washed up for the orgy?"_

_Whaaaaat. The. Fuuuuuck?! Cas is having orgies!_

_Dean's eyes split wide, the women walked off and he was left with the—_ apparently _—orgy-loving Castiel of five years from now and had no fucking clue what to say to the guy._

_Castiel stood, an appreciative gaze following the women as they headed off to 'wash up'. Cas stretched his back, grunting as his spine arched._

" _What are you—A hippie?" Dean blurted, eyes stuck on the sight before him._

_Castiel's hazy blues rolled back with worn irritation. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."_

_Dean briefly wondered what other labels his future self has applied in order to elicit such an 'I'm so done with your shit' tone. He brushed it off for the time being._

" _Cas, we gotta talk," he said, walking closer, seeing Cas' eyes bug out as he approached._

" _Whoa… Strange." Castiel gave him a once-over, eyes rolling from the floor to his face._

" _What?" Dean leaned in, searching the blue depths for answers of his own._

" _You…are not you. Not now you, anyway." Cas noted, a familiar squint observing Dean. Christ, thank God for angel powers, Dean thought._

_Dean sighed his blatant relief. "No! Yeah. Yes, exactly!"_

…

_During the day he spent in the future, he began to notice the way his future self watched Cas, and vice versa. It was more than unsettling and necessitated the wheels turning in his head. After the first few curious glances, Dean decided to ignore it. But by nightfall, a prickle of awareness settled in his brain and refused to leave. No matter how many years and tragedies had passed, he knew himself too well. And the look his future self had been giving Cas in this alternate timeline was…something else. It was indicative of a type of relationship that Dean couldn't quite define, and he was certain it was something he'd never experienced before. They had a closeness that wasn't best friends, or comrades, or trench-buddies, but a mix of all of the above, and yet, something else there as well._

_Something that made his heart falter in its rhythm. It was unnerving._

_Late that night, before leaving for the 'Kill the Devil' crusade, Dean found his eyes following Cas' movements, much the same way his future self did. He paid attention to the way the angel's body moved a little more limberly than the Cas that he was used to. Probably all the sex, Dean thought, smirking. For unknown reasons, his eyes flashed to his counterpart, his other self, and he wondered…_

_Stiffening as an unexpected image flashed across his mind, Dean found his focus drifting back to Cas; the safer of the two options. Dean, or himself, was scouring maps and plans, paying little attention to his past self and present angel._

_It was then, that Castiel crossed the room, coming too close, breaking into his errant thoughts. At least some things stayed the same, he reflected, looking into the blue eyes not six inches from his face._

" _You're so different Dean," Cas whispered, radiating dejection, an odd expression passing through his stoned blue eyes, the whites a little pink._

 _Forlorn—_ That _was the emotion Dean was seeing. A bubble of hatred targeted at his future self gurgled up._

" _Yeah, how so?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer._

_Instead of replying, Cas reached out and touched his face. Dean froze, looking half cross-eyed downwards at the hand on his cheek. He flushed, feeling the red shade blossom under his skin. An uncomfortable warmth grew inside him, and he tried his damnedest not to wonder why._

" _I wish things had been different," the angel murmured, a far-off expression taking over, his eyes glassy as he traced the features of Dean's face with his fingers. Time slowed to a crawl as the soft touch of his nimble fingers mapped the angle of his jaw, edging closer to his chin. Dean swallowed, more confused than he could remember ever having been before._

_Dean lingered towards the touch, leaning into it a second longer as Cas eventually pulled his hand back._

_Words of some kind were on their way out of Dean's mouth, but by then Cas was already halfway across the room, rambling about something else entirely. The moment was quickly ignored in the chaos, but not forgotten. Even through the sheer confusion and muddled unknowns in that universe, it was the first time Dean had ever felt desire for Castiel. The kind that made him clear his throat and readjust his clothes. At the time, he might have been able to deny his own passing thoughts, but the endless dreams that haunted him for weeks after were clear as fucking glass._

_The future version of Castiel had touched him in a way that felt like a secret being revealed, curtains being parted, and Dean couldn't deny it to himself that he'd wanted more of whatever truths were hidden there._

…

By the time they returned from their hunt, Dean had something, or more, _someone_ on his mind. Sam went in search of Jody, passing off the guns and supplies for Dean to clean and put away. Dean dropped them on the floor by the map-table, ignoring them for the time being, his focus on more important, and more exciting things.

Finding Cas in his room with a book, he walked to the bed and climbed on, crawling over and taking the book away.

"Good mood?" Cas glanced up at the interruption, a smile in his eyes.

"Yes." Dean grinned, grabbing Cas' hand.

He geared them towards the shower room, closing and locking the door just in case and started to undress, still amazed that getting naked made him fleetingly short-breathed and anxious.

/\/\/\

Sam entered his room to find Jody seated cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a clutter of books and papers surrounding her like a fort. There was no way she was getting up without disturbing one of the many haphazard piles.

"We have tables in this place," he teased.

"Hmm, yeah, sorry. I really only meant to bring one single book into bed, and then I read something and went in search of something else, and…" She glanced up, shrugging. "Before I knew it, I was the center of a paper-storm." Jody laughed, absently pushing the hair off the side of her face.

Sam grouped together some of the stacks of books and placed them off to the side. He leaned over, a knee on the bed and captured her face for a kiss, slowly attempting to lower her backwards onto the bed.

A hand, and then two, pushed at his chest. "Damn you, Winchester!" she growled, shoving. "I'm doing research! And you come in here all tall and handsome like that, kissing me and being all tempting. How are we supposed to make any progress with this stuff?"

With an amused laugh, Sam offered a polite smile, waved his hand for her to continue and backed off the bed. "So any progress then?"

"Well… not much." Leaning over towards the nightstand, she snatched the handle of her mug and took a sip of the coffee before she went on. "Crowley was right on how to kill these guys, blade to the heart. But, from what I've learned, it doesn't actually kill them, more like their evil ass gets sent back to this Omega guy. It seems like he puts a piece of himself into each undead human he creates, that's what gives them life—or some semblance of it. So when they get knifed, the piece gets flashed back to the master. Which begs the question, how do we kill this guy?"

Shuffling of papers drew Sam's attention from organizing the weapons he had in his closet. He angled his head over his shoulder as he spoke, "The passage from that book that I found talked about some prophecy but it was so verbally garbled, it was hard to make much sense from it. Suffice to say there has to be some way to kill this guy. But that's only half the problem. That woman wants him dead, but him dying doesn't fix Heaven." Picking up the sawed-off from the back of his closet, Sam made a mental note to clean the guns he hadn't used in a while.

"No, but you've been getting a lot of calls about these white-haired dead guys coming up in a lot of places now, I think for now that's a bigger priority." More paper ruffling and then sipping.

"Agreed. You want more coffee? Maybe some food too, oh, wonderful gorgeous woman on my bed?" Grinning, Sam turning back, now with a black bag full of weapons to be cared for.

Jody smirked, shaking her head. "If you wouldn't mind, I would love some toast and peanut butter."

"For the price of one really good kiss." Walking to the edge of the bed, he leaned forward over the end towards her spot in the middle, having to brace his hand on the top unbalanced pile of hardcovers. With a teasing smile, she pulled up onto her knees and threw one arm around his neck and laid a hot kiss on him; all tongue and— _Ohh,_ a hand on his crotch. Rubbing, cupping, and good old groping. Sam moaned and pushed into her hand, turning his head to kiss deeper, snaking a hand to her neck to hold her there a bit longer.

Finally, she eased back with an evil grin. "Off to the kitchen, manservant!"

Sam howled a laugh and bowed. He walked over to the door, paused, reached into his pants and adjusted himself, throwing a little grin her way. "God, woman!" he chafed in a false complaint, heading out the door, the sound of her throaty laugh seeing him out.

/\/\/\

There were few things better than seeing Cas flushed and incoherent, and those things, Dean was sure, had to do with Cas as well. On his knees at Cas' feet, Dean worked a closed fist up and down his rigid, wet cock, reaching down to fondle and stroke his sac. Keeping Cas on his toes, almost literally, Dean used his mouth to mix it up, repeatedly switching. When only his hand was in use, Dean gawked in euphoria at the faces Castiel made. It was fitting, he thought, that he should be on his knees worshipping Cas' body. At first, Cas had protested him kneeled on the hard tiled floor—considering the inherent subservient role—but Dean had plied him with soft, wet kisses that started from his ear and moved down and down. By the time, he reached Cas' hipbones, there was no more arguing.

As Dean twisted his fist towards the head, licking his lips as he watched the red, plump crown slide in and out from between his finger and thumb, he let his head fall back to gape at the ever-changing expressions of Cas' arousal.

Some were lax, with his mouth hanging open. Other times, Cas' tongue would dart out to wet his lips. Hmm, and man, when those blue eyes rolled back, brows cinching together, Dean was sure he'd have a heart attack.

Mostly though, Dean enjoyed the scrunched up expression, usually accompanied by begging as Dean brought him to the edge over and over again without giving in to demands for release. Dean fed off the reactions; it was one of the only things that made him totally and completely happy these days.

His knees started to cramp and his thighs burned from the position but he ignored the tell-tale signs that he was getting old. Grabbing Cas' clenching hands, he linked their fingers together over Cas' thighs and sank the cock deep into his mouth.

Dean _loved_ giving Cas pleasure this way. Loved how the angel's erection hopped a little when Dean let it rest on his tongue, tightening his lips around the base, breathing in the thick scent of arousal.

Castiel's fingers pinched his hands, curving them backwards as he rocked gently, streaming sounds of _Ahhh's_ and _Oooh's_ and _Deannn, Deandeandeandean._ Geez, you'd think Cas didn't know any other words. Part of Dean badly wanted to hear Cas shout out some rough curses, and maybe get a little more unhinged. But when he really thought about it, the idea of Cas being utterly unhinged, and Cas then bracing Dean for a good face-fucking were too closely linked in his mind. The latter scaring him. The stupid thing was, he knew— _he knew_ —Cas would never actually do that. And yet, still, he was frightened it could happen.

Contrasting the direction of his thoughts, Cas unclenched his grip and lifted his freed hand to Dean's face. Stroking his cheek in the most tender gesture, Castiel gazed down at him.

"I love you _,_ " Cas said throatily, his blue eyes mysteriously pained for some reason Dean couldn't place. But the peculiar moment was forgotten as Cas jerked, thighs hardening in a flash, and his abs tightening in a way that Dean had to reach up and palm across the skin. Looking down, both hands cupping Dean's face gently, Cas' mouth parted and then he came in ropes shooting at the back of his throat.

Like every other time before this, pleasuring Cas always seemed to get Dean's downstairs all excited. He'd yet to let Cas touch it. Still on his knees, licking away every last bit of the glorious mess he'd created, he felt the heavy weight at the juncture of his hips and tried to move his legs to dispel the tightness.

When he stood, his knees cracked and Dean went light-headed from the steam in the shower and abrupt ascension. He leaned against the warm, slick tiles to the side of the spray, his hand holding his dick up against his lower abdomen so that it would be out of the way. In the back of his mind, he considered the idea of locking it up in a cage. Cock-prison. It seemed justified.

A touch on his face brought his eyes open, having slipped off for a minute or two in the contented aftermath. Castiel was there, reading him quietly, his blue eyes still mostly dilated. Dean grinned lazily, staring back all manner of happy. At least for the moment.

The pounding of the water seemed louder when Cas' palm settled over his heart, fingers tapping out a rhythm to match the beat. Dean blinked, water dropping from his eyelashes. He kept still even as the angel's palm slid down his torso, detouring over to his side and resting against his ribs. Coming into his breathing space, Cas' pink, wet lips captured his bottom one, pulling it and sucking until it tingled. It went that way until the sound of the shower was nothing but a thrum in his ears and all Dean registered was Cas' hands and lips marking him, touching him in exactly the perfect way—not hurried or grabby—but nimble and goosebump-inducing.

The bumps of knuckles grazed the back of his hand—the one being used to hold himself pointedly out of the equation.

"Let go," Cas asked softly; so sure that everything would be okay if he did. "It's only me."

Dean knew that, of course. It wasn't the problem he was currently having. The thought of Cas touching something that Dean had used to violate him with, among others, was nauseating. He had to swallow to hold back everything that threatened expulsion. Dean couldn't reconcile what his body had gone through, and still find it in him to let Cas touch the thing. It felt so goddamn wrong. Like he was breaking any trust he might've built between them.

"You're hurting yourself." Cas' concern permeated his thoughts. Dean refocused into reality, noticing that he had a death-grip on himself. And yeah…it hurt. Releasing a breath, Dean loosened up but didn't let go.

"Feels really wrong to let you touch me…knowing…ya know…everything," he blabbed. Oh, for the days when he could just whip it out and bang whatever was in front of him and willing. The good old days of being a mentally sound slut, Dean thought with building distaste.

Seeing a brick wall for what it was, Cas resumed kissing him—starting with his neck. A wet, slippery tongue slid down to his chest, occasionally pausing to suck at his skin. Several minutes of the good stuff, Dean was back to feeling relaxed. Enough so that he'd begun stroking himself tentatively; little squeezes just beneath the head. Cas trailed his knuckles in an endless pass over his abs, getting closer and closer, and Dean knew, in order to avoid further discussion and possibly a fight that he needed to somehow let this horrible thing happen. Who knows? Maybe Cas would touch it and he'd shrivel up or something? A man could hope…

Sucking back some steamy oxygen, Dean let go of his offensive cock and threw his arms up and against the wall. "Your funeral." His dick lowered to parallel with the floor, grazing Cas a smidge.

He wanted to throw up.

Cas regarded him flatly. Unmoving and stoic like the old Cas. Dean dropped his arms and met the stern look, chewing his lip.

"Go for it," Dean rudely insisted, immediately regretting the tone of his voice. Sagging back to the slick tiles, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying. I'm not used to being like this. I get it. I really do. Crazy's all in my head, right?" Fuck, I'm going to Hell. Might as well buy property this time around. "I can handle this." Sneaking a quick peak at his erect cock, Dean cringed. It was still all about the 'hey-how-are-ya' even though he'd been hoping the thing had deflated. "See? All good to go."

Cas went from irritated to squinty, which was sort of comical when he was naked and dripping water, his hair slicked down, dark and shiny. Finally, the angel let out a great big sigh and collapsed into Dean's chest, hugging him. Almost as if he'd given up.

Funny thing though… Cas pressed naked against him like this? Umm, kind of not awful. His cock twitched between them and Cas' head snapped up, a grin slowly spreading wide, revealing perfect teeth and gums. Goddamn giddy was what he looked like.

Okay, there, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Dean thought.

Silently asking for permission, and receiving the reluctant okay on Dean's part, Cas slipped his hand down and barely grazed along the side of his erection squished between them. An instant flash to something else broke free, but he mentally wrestled it back. Cas is an angel, he thought. Cas will be okay. All the nasty leftover on him could _not_ leech into an angel. It wasn't possible.

Nope.

Nopity nope, nope, nope. Nuh-uh.

"You're making an odd face. Am I doing this wrong?" Cas tipped his head to the side and looked down with a clinical eye. Dean snorted a laugh, friggin' thankful for Cas being Cas.

"God, no… Sorry. I'm trying to stay on board here." The second Cas' eyes flashed up to meet his, Dean lowered for a kiss, using those familiar lips and tongue to calm himself. Closing out the shower room and blue stare, Dean let Cas' tongue do amazing things to his thought-process, and because of it, he was able to keep his shit together and actually enjoy the hesitant touch of Cas' fingers.

It was obvious after a few passes and light strokes that Cas had never done this before. Not even to himself it seemed. It wasn't that it was bad, but Dean could tell the uncertainty in Cas' movements was more than simple concern for Dean's mental health.

Dean satiated himself with Cas' mouth, tasting him, breathing in the steam and their mixed scent. After several minutes, Castiel picked up confidence as he did speed and technique, all simultaneously rolling together to give him the hardest hard-on he could remember having in a long-ass time. He had to break away from slick lips to pant heavily, his body rippling with arousal. Needing more than Cas' touch to go over, Dean lifted his eyelids and found the angel already staring hard. Their noses bumped as their faces moved closer, hot breath streaming between them, lips meeting in passes, searching for quick pecks and little tastes of one another.

A memory danced in the recess of his consciousness: Cas' vivid eyes, a thumb rubbing against his veins, of calm, drowsy safety filtering from his toes to his head.

 _I've got you,_ he heard Cas say somewhere in his mind.

The taste of copper trickled into Dean's mouth and he realized he'd been biting hard into his lip. He released it with a gasp, inhaling the steam. Cas' hand slowed, teasing the head of him, making his abs quiver with impending release. Seeing the cut on his lip, Castiel stretched up and licked over it, healing the minute slash. But _damn_ , the drag of tongue across his sensitive lip combined with Cas' hungry stare was too much. And yet, perfectly enough to send him over.

An almost pain-sounding grunt erupted from his throat as he came, his hips quaking. Cas' free hand dropped down to grip his side, holding him still as he let go. It felt unbelievably incredible until his gaze flitted down and he saw all his come dripping and soaked on Cas' hand.

Dean fucking snapped.

Tearing Cas' hand off himself he hauled it under the spray and rubbed at the skin like a madman. It was gross, Dean thought. How could he have let himself come all over Cas' perfect skin? He might as well have thrown garbage on the guy. The image of that creamy white gloss running across his knuckles, and dripping between Cas' long fingers had him nearly hurling.

With a suffered sigh, Cas yanked his hand back and threw his arms around Dean in a restraining bear-hug of angelic strength.

"Stop, stop, just stop," Cas whispered frantically, hushing the words against his ear. Christ, Dean couldn't get the picture of it out of his head, seeing it elsewhere. Abaddon had made him ejaculate on a soul being tortured several times. She'd thought it was funny.

Ha. Ha. Hilarious, bitch!

Cas was still hushing him in rambles trying to calm him down. Confused, thinking he'd already gotten back to some kind of normal, he reassessed himself from top to bottom, noting clearly that he had some wicked shakes going on. Rebuilding the Tetris of his psyche was a process, but he managed. I'm Dean Winchester… I got this. I'm okay. Nothing happened. S'all good.

Dean nudged out of the tight hold and smiled down timidly, a tad crooked. "Point for me?" he asked, his panicked state retreating, glad for having someone who knew how wrongly wired he was. No one else would ever put up with this shit. And the best part was? He didn't want it to be anyone else. 'Course he was still freaked about his grodyness getting all mixed in with angel fluff. But Cas didn't seem corrupted or anything at the moment. Dean looked him up and down, checking for damage, or fuck, he didn't know. Anything to prove or disprove his theory that he was going to tarnish the angel somehow with his funk. But all he saw was Cas staring back, eyes narrowed but apparently fine. His skin was still perfect, wet streaks cascading over his shoulders, down his chest and stomach as the shower rained down above them.

"Tell me everything is okay," he pleaded, reaching out to push the waterlogged hair away from Cas' forehead.

"Everything is perfect." Cas circled his arms around Dean's middle and pulled him in close.

/\/\/\

Lying in bed later that night, Castiel watched Dean for any relapse of some kind. He seemed, for the most part, calm and content. The man was sidled against him, arms and legs secured around his body in a way that, were Castiel human, he would likely have been trapped.

He didn't mind in the least.

Dean was humming the latest song he was learning, Castiel hadn't heard it before but enjoyed the rumble of Dean's voice against his ribs. It sounded country, or sultry maybe. He wasn't the best at deciphering genres.

Scratching imaginary lines and pictures on Dean's back, they laid content for hours, happily basking in the aftermath of hurdles passed.

It was warm in the room, especially under the blankets with Dean's furnace-imitating form along his side, meeting skin to skin in every possible way. A part of him was tempted to give Dean the truth about all the things happening outside their safe little haven. But instead, he selfishly held on to the moment.

Recalling the look on Dean's face when he'd seen his seed on Cas' hand, a weight sunk in his heart knowing the things Dean had been put through and how damaged he still was as a result.

"You're not dirty or unclean in any way. I know that's what you think, and you're wrong." The words had the expected result of causing Dean to tense up, muscles bunching hard. To counteract the stiff lines of Dean's body, Cas trailed his fingers over a long arm draped over his chest. He followed the lines of bones all the way to Dean's hand, dipping between his fingers. Picking up a finger at random, he played with it as he spoke. "The past can't hurt you, or me, I promise you that. And I've lived for greater than a millennia so I am, therefore, smarter than you, and as such you must take my word for truth, understand?"

He wiggled Dean's finger to try and get a reply. A soft exhale preceded Dean rising up to meet his eyes. "As much as I want to believe you, I just…" Releasing another sigh, Dean dropped his head against Castiel's chest. "I don't wanna hurt you," he finished in a whisper.

"You know I'm stronger than you right?" he teased.

Dean groaned. "Shuddup, ya' cocky bastard."

Castiel laughed, hauling Dean up his chest to snag his lips for a kiss. He moaned low against the touch he was beginning to know so well. Dean's lips were always soft and warm, his tongue tempting as it explored his mouth. The kiss was lazy and comfortable, as he'd meant it to be. When he felt Dean begin to sag, and his kissy smacks growing sloppier, he eased off and got them settled in the bed. Dean, as always was curved in facing him, Castiel's arm slipped under his head as an extra pillow below the real one.

Dean's eyes opened part way and he tapped Cas' forearm twice. "…Bored?"

"What's that?"

"D'ya get bored?" Dean murmured, eyes shut.

"Lying beside you at night?"

Dean hummed affirmatively.

"Never. Go to sleep."

"Still creepy." Dean's muffled voice sounded amused.

"Don't act like you don't love it." Castiel smirked, eyes cast low to watch the dim smile turn up the corner of Dean's mouth. The mouth that still glistened from their lazy affections.

Dean's adorable sleepy grin was enough to set his heart skipping a beat or two.

An angel he might be, his vessel was still human and the more he felt himself become attached to it, the more he allowed it to respond in human ways, being affected so easily as he never would have before.

Earlier in the shower, when Dean's mouth had been on him, driving him to insanity, he could no longer control his cries or whimpers, could scarcely stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

Castiel, in all honesty, had to wonder how people didn't have regular heart attacks as a result of sex. And then he thought about he and Dean having full intercourse one day… _Father in Heaven_ , he was liable to explode. He hoped Dean didn't mind a little spontaneous combustion with his sex.

/\/\/\

Something wonderful was happening.

Oh good god, Dean whimpered with delight, feeling expert hands dig at the muscles of his back. They kneaded and stroked, working out stress and other kinks.

"You're so beautiful Dean."

 _Pfft_ , no. He parted his mouth to shoot back some retort on the contrary but nothing came out. Why couldn't he speak? _What the hell?_ Dean panicked, instantly trying to turn around, only to realize his arms were trapped, rough binds jagged and burning against his skin.

Struck by fear, he thrashed to test the rest of his mobility and found he had none. The massaging hands, previously enjoyable became lewd, sliding lower to places that made his heart race and caused sweat to pool in every crevice of his body. Eyes burning with tears brimming up, his throat tight, Dean tried to plead for Cas to stop, but his voice remained trapped and useless.

"Did you think what you did would go unpunished?" The words made him blanch, his stomach sinking low.

"Deaaannnn… I'm an angel. Angels do _not_ tolerate our vessels being violated. Especially not by hairless apes such as yourself." Reprimanding as that message was, it didn't terrify him as much as the fact that his legs were being pushed apart.

No, no, no.

Groping hands grabbed and squeezed up the backs of his thighs. Dean tried in vain to pull his legs closed but they simply wouldn't comply. Instead, cool air met the sensitive parts of him as he was forced on display.

 _Cas,_ he prayed, _please stop. I'm sorry… God, I'm so sorry. Please don't do this._

"Dean…"

_I'm sorry. So sorry… It-it wasn't me. It wasn't me. I would never… Please. Anything else, please. Don't._

The frightened prayer was ignored and his body went still as he felt something sharp and cold between his legs, dragging lightly against the very thin, very vulnerable skin covering his balls.

Oh God, ohgodohgodohgod! _Don't, please don't._

" _Dean!"_

 _Stop._ Oh god… The chilling blade rounded under and dragged the tip in a curve between the two weights of his sac. Tears stung his eyes, his entire body bracing for pain.

_Please don't do this…_

Increasing the pressure, he began to feel a pinch. Suddenly he was screaming, trying in vain to drag his body away from the knife. But hands held him down, and they started to jostle him violently, shaking him—

" _DEAN!_ "

Thrown back into consciousness with a start, his eyes flashed open, finding himself on his back, Cas towering above, sharp blue eyes wild with worry. Dean was covered in sweat from head to toe, the blankets rank with it, the whole room totally permeated with the scent of his goddamn fear.

Neither of them said a thing. Nights like this happened more often than either would care to admit in the light of day. Dean had hoped that with things going better in the daylight that these horrific nights would lessen but, yeah, not so much as it turned out. Tonight's little ditty was fucking terrifying though.

Breathing in rough pants, he nodded and Cas did his thing and cleaned him up and their bed.

"What was it this time?"

Dean absorbed Cas' examining scrutiny and pressed his lips together. He opted for a simple headshake.

"It was me, wasn't it?" asked Castiel, his expression all manner of crushed.

Fortifying himself with a deep breath of clean air, he squirmed out of Cas' overbearing position and flipped them so they were lying on their sides.

"Just tell me if it was," Cas demanded, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling it between them to hold against his heart. Dean could feel the blood-pumping organ thumping away.

Avoiding Cas' eyes, he focusing on Cas' chest and said, "You were about to castrate me."

Cas cursed harsh under his breath. That's how Dean knew just how hurtful his nightmare was to both of them. Cas never swore. Or very, very rarely. A hand cupped his chin, stroking his beard and the skin beneath his lower lip. Cas dragged his face upwards. "I'm so sorry Dean."

"Don't worry about it. It's not the worst nightmare I've ever had." True story. And ain't that a motherfucker, thought Dean.

Silence fell over the room and nothing but the sounds of their slowly calming breaths accompanied their straying thoughts.

"Do you want help falling back asleep?" Castiel asked him after a long while, letting the nightmare fade back to the depths where many others now piled up.

"Yeah, but no angel mojo, just scratch my head or something," he said, moving closer and tucking his body into Cas', pushing a leg between his knees and his one arm squishing in between their chests.

The second Cas' fingers spread into his hair, scratching and playing and rubbing all over his head, Dean's eyes dropped shut, his whole body going limp into the touch.

…

Waking to a new day after a night like that, finding that Cas was quietly wrapped around him for a change was a great start to the day. Enjoying the comfort and quiet of the moment, he thought more on what he'd asked Sam about on the drive home and decided it was something he couldn't get out of his head.

Weeks earlier, Cas' erection pressed bare against his thigh would have left him hyperventilating, but now Dean gently shifted so that he could reach down and take it in hand, seeing the pleasure build in the lines of Cas' face. First with the slight grin at the corners of his mouth, and then the crinkles near his closed eyes, as the touch gained purpose and direction.

"Climb on top of me," Cas murmured.

Making a dreadful face, he spat, "God, no." Then immediately cursed himself, not wanting a lecture this early in the morning about how he was 'Not dirty'.

"Fine." Cas groaned and made telling moves as he attempted to climb on Dean. Reconsidering his impulsive actions, he paused halfway, one knee half poised on Dean's hip. "Is this okay?"

"Uh?" Glancing up to see Cas' beautiful, desperately waiting face, he gave in and nodded.

Lithely straddling his thighs, Cas looked down to see Dean half-hard, his cock not sure if it wanted to participate or not. Thankfully, Castiel's hands lightly stroking it awoke his man-bits to full attention.

Adjusting into a lean over Dean's chest, Castiel kissed him. Moving up from his dick, Castiel rubbed over his chest, skirting up to cup his neck, and then sank his fingers up into Dean's bed-mussed hair. Having relaxed him expertly, Cas' hand travelled back down his body towards his full erection.

"Stop me if it's too much," Castiel warned before taking them both in hand.

Dean's body jolted as if he'd been electrocuted. The feel of Cas' hot, iron-hard cock a thick line against his own was like a big orange jug of gasoline dumped onto his low-grade arousal and lighting it the fuck on fire. Jerking his hips into the friction, Dean exhaled Cas' name, his eyes opening and closing as Cas fisted them together.

Mouth parted wide, Dean struggled from the lung-hitching touch, finding it hard to pull in enough oxygen. Cas deftly stroked them, leaning over to shadow Dean's face before he sealed them together for a demanding kiss so deep that his jaw hurt. And still, he wanted more. Cas' tongue plunged into his mouth, licking up along his own, working in a delicious circular movement as the angel's hand and dick moved together in a rhythm against Dean's.

The warm drag of Cas' palm, and the smooth, rigid presence of his sex crushing against Dean's overwhelmed him. His pelvis tingled with each wave of arousal, rolling through him like an incoming tide, getting higher and deeper.

Cas reached the edge before he did. Dean's body fought his release after his reaction the last time, not wanting a repeat of the freak out. Blue eyes were fierce, dark with arousal as they looked down at him. "Please, please come with me," Castiel begged, the obvious strain from holding his orgasm back showed in the crease on his forehead and the tightness in his jaw.

Feeling the pressure of performance, Dean searched within for some trigger to make himself finish, knowing in the back of his mind that he was about to come all over both Cas' hand and dick this time. "Don't know if I can," he admitted, ashamed as a man to say it.

Cas thrust forward erratically, whimpers and groans coming out as he tried in vain to hold back until Dean was ready. The brown-haired head thumped against Dean's forehead, Cas' mouth parting to plead irrational and delirious in his state. "Please, D-Dean. Pl-ease, _mmm_ … I want to-want to f-feel you c- _ahhh_ -ome. Uh, sshhit, I can't—" Cas lost the battle with words and fell into Dean's shoulder and bit him, blind and unthinking as his orgasm took him over.

The sharp, possessive nip combined with the feel of Cas' warm seed spilling onto his skin threw Dean right over the edge, lost in ecstacy as if he were weightless in the air. The subtle ropes of his own release landed in warm streaks against his chest.

Cas shuddered on top of him, still rocking them in his palm, pulling their twitching erections, squeezing and milking them dry. A low, husky groan accompanied the lingering strokes and it made Dean shiver.

Without warning, Cas dropped like a stone, his arm trapped between them, among other things, panting against Dean's neck. A warm, wet streak brushed over the tender spot on his throat, Cas' efforts at healing him of the reddened mark. The angel mumbled apologies, but was too fucked-out to really care.

Dean rubbed his lover's back as reassurance that he was fine, all the while, silently losing his shit over the fact that a little pain ripped the orgasm right out of him as easy as flipping a damn lever. And here he thought he'd been getting better somehow.

So much for that theory.

Once Cas calmed down back to neutral, he went ominously still, and Dean knew he'd clued in to the same thoughts.

"Dean, tell me this, lovers often nip at each other, right?"

Dean hesitated before dubiously giving his reply, "Yeah, but—"

"—No buts. You're not abnormal. I know where your head is going and just stop." Cas emphasized his growing impatience by biting Dean gently at the base of his neck. Dean's flaccid erection showed a passing interest.

"Cas, I just, I, uh, don't think we should go there with you know our…umm…sex stuff." He searched for the appropriate words as if he were navigating a dictionary. "I've got so many wires crossed up here, I don't want to one day trip the wrong one and the bomb inside me goes off. Let's just not cut any wires…or bite them, as the case may be."

Castiel kissed him, following that up with a sullen look. "Slowly but surely I will kiss you back to the rapacious man who made very crude innuendos about getting inside you." And to top off that sentence, Cas winked.

The comment and the delivery blasted Dean with an accompanying image in his mind of Cas sliding a lubed cock into him and a shock of arousal torpedoed from his dick to his ass, down his legs, and then up to his head where the blood drained. Every vein seemed to reroute down to his cock.

The surprise must have shown on his face, or maybe it was the stiffy he was sporting, because Cas snapped his head back and gave Dean a once-over. "Um, I don't think we're ready for _that_ but I think we can safely say we're making very good headway."

"Oh my god, stop talking and kiss me." Cas did just that and the whole morning fortified Dean's resolve on the idea he'd woken up with.

/\/\/\

"Well, fuck V! Get your ass in gear!" Butch hollered, running full tilt towards the commotion at the back of the alley.

Halfway there he was blindsided by a hard hit from the right. Two bodies collided in a hard crunch against the far brick walls of the heritage building downtown. Shit, hope we don't mangle the heritage façade, Butch thought as he shoved off at the same moment as he threw his elbow back and up, feeling it land hard into facial features—a crunching jaw it sounded like. Ooh, and a pained groan.

 _Nice_!

Three more lessers were down the way in a battle with V and Butch knew more would be coming soon. They'd call for back up if they could, but everyone else was knee-deep in the white-haired bastards same as they were. It was all systems go for the undead army, it seemed. Their roll-call had certainly cranked up in the numbers and the Brotherhood was suffering for it. From what V told him, it was all a result of Heaven being shut down for business, souls ripe for the picking only to be imprisoned in a trade-off for undead bodies. And still, no one could figure out how the Omega was actually doing it—getting into Heaven's waiting line. V said his research into fixing Heaven was coming up zilch, save for the name Metatron, which his mother affirmed was now dead.

Awesome, Butch thought, throwing his opponent hard into the bricks, seeing one crack in two.

Goddammit…

Dead-ends everywhere they went. He swore out loud, cursing harshly in rampant succession of Fucks, Shits, and Mother-fuckers! The lesser he was on had screwed his eyes shut as he fought. Damn, fuckers were getting smart.

Butch landed a fist into his gut, getting the desired reaction of lids popping up. He met those undead gray eyes and the connection linked. His prophecy-realized ass sucked the evil down, killing these bastards the only way they knew how. Killing them for good too. Done-Dee. And taking a part of the Omega with him.

As the lesser checked out Buffy the Vampire Slayer style, and the evil rolled around like old meat in his gut, he stumbled in a half run towards V, now two on one.

"Nice of ya ta' join the party, cop!" V grunted, mid-fight.

Butch pulled up beside him, saying, "Sorry, man, got a little side-tracked," and took the one light-haired, baby-powder smelling ugly for himself.

"What's up, about-to-be-dead guy?" he chuckled, throwing his body forward in a tackle, making sure to lock eyes that opened wide with surprise.

He could hear V laughing behind him and in five minutes flat the remaining deadies were sucked down—and not in the sexy way.

Yeah, nothing sexy about Butch upchucking on asphalt, he thought. His stomach heaved and he felt V come around to him, grabbing him by the shoulders to try and turn him over.

" _Uh_ …why'd I eat soup before this? _Soooo_ gross," Butch whined.

"Yeah that was a bad choice. C'mon brother, roll over so I can lay some of the good stuff on ya," said V in that smooth voice of his, trying to push Butch over.

With a groan, he relented, flopping down over V's knee somehow materializing behind him so he wasn't lying on the cold ground. Vishous peeled off the black leather glove that normally covered his glowing, God-like limb and its evil vanquishing abilities.

Vishous lifted his shirt, slipping that palm under and spreading it out wide over his bare stomach. Butch moaned, unashamed at the porno sound of his voice. V was used to it. Besides, they'd crossed more gay boundaries than this. As the nausea faded and his head cleared, he thought about all the other fights that were going on, or had gone on that night, and felt awful knowing that he wasn't able to do his job.

"Prophecy or not, V, I can't do this. Not now. There's too goddamn many of them. We're dropping the ball…and with other threats going on right now, I'm starting to think we're on the losing side."

Vishous gave him a light jab to the gut, "Don't talk shit, cop. We got this."

"Yeah, you said that angel can't do nothin' about Heaven, so how the hell do we stop anything? Huh? C'mon V, be straight with me."

Vishous sighed, pushing Butch into a sitting position, their heavy boots thumping on the ground as they readjusted.

"Fucking trust me, alright? Things will be fine."

Butch (AKA Brian O'Neil); hard-ass, prophecy realized within a hidden war, had also been a cop for most of his life, and despite V's awesome poker face, Butch knew bull-shit when he heard it.

They were massive levels of fucked. Red-alert, Captain…

/\/\/\

Marking in the last thick line, Dean looked down at his work. He was tempted to get Sam to double-check it, wanting to make sure it was flawless. But, in the end, he wasn't ready to share this with anyone else. This was something for just for him.

Sticking the paper into one of the empty manila folders he'd found, he headed towards the garage, stopping quickly in the range to grab a gun and knife, knowing he should have them on him when he went out.

It wasn't his outright intention to be sly about the whole thing, but he decided not to let Cas know what he was doing. There were some questions that simply had no answers.

Forty minutes later, Dean was seated in a black leather chair, chest to the back, arms curled around, his chin resting on the top of the high-back. His shirt was off and hanging on a stool nearby.

The tracing paper was held up in front of his face. "Good?" the burly man, covered in tats, asked.

"Perfect."

The paper was placed on the top of his back and set in so the design would transfer. When it was peeled off, he was told to get up and check it out in the mirror to make sure it was centered and positioned properly.

Seeing the traced blue lines, knowing their meaning, he was excited to see it full and black.

"Yeah, man, it's great. Go to town," said Dean, sitting backwards in his original position.

Now, this was the hard part. Calming his breathing, Dean tried to find some sort of happy place, knowing the needle and the pain might trigger some shit, praying it didn't.

The design had been enlarged to make it big enough to stretch across his back and the lines alone were thick, so it took over a couple hours of filling in.

That first pinch of the needle, Dean had tensed up and got a decent sweat going as memories danced on the periphery of his thoughts. But he gripped hard into the leather with his fingers and managed to find the willpower to keep himself together. After the filling in started, his back went blessedly numb. Finally, he uncurled his claw-shaped grips on the leather chair-back and flexed his fingers, wincing from the aching joints.

The rest of the experience was tolerable. And if anything, Dean actually got a little bored and wound up in a good conversation with the guy.

"Want me to add any flourish at all?" Greg, the tattoo artist, asked.

Dean moved his arms and stretched a little, his back cracking. "Nope. Just simple and clean."

"That's it then. You're good to go."

When Greg, forty-something with a loving wife and a bad-ass Harley as Dean had learned, had begun tracing the first lines, he'd asked what the writing meant, and what the language was. Dean was vague, muttering something about religion. He'd seen a cross and stuff inked on the guy's own skin so he figured the topic was a safe one.

Standing, Dean stretched, lengthening his spine and stretching out his shoulder blades, feeling the tightness at the top.

"Let me just put some goop on it before you go." Greg slathered his back in what looked like motor grease.

Dean walked over to the mirror and turned at his waist, looking back over his shoulder. His breath hitched at the sight, overcome with an array of emotions.

"You alright?" asked Greg. "Is it for someone who's gone?"

Dean shook his head, not sure how to answer that. "Yeah…me," he finally murmured under his breath, even though it didn't make a lick of sense. Greg's eyes went wide and then squinted. He scratched his goatee, no doubt wondering what kind of crazy Dean was.

Turning back to the guy, Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Greg, it's awesome, really. You did great. It means a lot. Thanks."

Greg shook his offered hand and rung him up at the cash after Dean had been taped up to protect the tat, and having thrown his shirt back on. Dean blanched when he saw the numbers on the register display.

Shit, tats were getting goddamn pricey.

Not that the visa in hand would ever get paid off. He swiped quickly and headed out with some final goodbyes to the guy.

/\/\/\

Sitting at one of the library tables, Castiel poured over research into the growing problems they had, hoping to find ways to keep Dean out of it. He knew Dean had taken off, but decided to let the man be, feeling that Dean was well enough to go out and do whatever he wanted without a baby-sitter. The last thing Cas wanted to do was smother him.

Hours later, when Dean returned, he barely entered the room, purposefully hanging around the archway as if an invisible barrier separated them.

"Hey Cas, umm, I need to work on fighting a bit more…for uh…ya know reasons and stuff and I really don't wanna fight you or Sam. D'ya think you could maybe call that friend of yours?" He coughed awkwardly. "The guy from the club?"

The words flowed over Cas' head as a smell hit him. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it and found himself tipping his head to the side, looking Dean over from head to toe.

"Dean, is something wrong?" he asked. Not in response to Dean's question, but to the strange smell. He could've sworn he'd smelled it before.

"Nah, I'm great. Really. So, Vishous? That's his name right?" Dean pressed.

Cas nodded, detached as his thoughts went in other directions. "Yes, I'll send him a message with your number. I'm sure he won't mind sparring with you." He paused. "What's that smell?" he asked, too curious not to.

"Oh, just some muscle rub. Back was sore," Dean replied instantly.

Cas raised his eyebrows and felt a lie somewhere in there but Dean seemed okay, and Cas had his secrets, perhaps Dean could be afforded some as well. Deciding to let it go, he pulled out his phone and messaged V: "Dean would like to spar with you. Not comfortable with me or his brother. Interested?"

The vampire responded almost instantly. "I'm down. I'll message a time and place."

When he asked if V required the number, all he got back was a winky face, and, "Don't you know me at all?"

Vishous' text pinged almost the same second as Dean's phone went off. Castiel shook his head. V was certainly good with technology, though the bunker was supposed to be in a dead-zone of some kind, Sam had told him once.

"Shit that was fast. Thanks. He says tonight's good. I'm going out, see ya later!" Dean started to jog off. Castiel flew to the spot directly in front of his path in the hallway.

The flutter and slight displacement of air made Dean's eyes go wide. "Geez, Cas, walking too much for ya?"

Cas noticed the smell was stronger the closer he was to Dean, he still knew that it was familiar and for some reason he remembered stinging discomfort, but then maybe Dean had been telling the truth. Either way, Dean was still shooting out the door like a hellhound was on his ass.

"You seem really eager to not be here right now," he noted plainly.

Dean's shoulders sagged down and he sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I'm fiiinnne! Chillax." He leaned forward to kiss Cas quickly and marched off.

Despite his annoyance at Dean's blatant lying, he still wished he'd gotten more of a kiss than that. He frowned as he watched Dean take off.

But then he realized he had some free time of his own and thought, what better time to visit an old business partner?

/\/\/\

Dean followed the directions, meandering as they were, to a spot about forty minutes north into wide-spread country and uninhabited tracts of land that were probably marked for farmland but no one had tilled these fields in decades. He finally spotted the sharp turn in the road, and yup, just as V had said: A large barn, weathered and about to topple over was visible off to the side of the road. He pulled the Impala onto the gravel laneway and it bumped along until it was deep enough down the lane that it probably couldn't be spotted from the road. Not that many people passed by anyway.

Dean exited cautiously. In all fairness, their last encounter had been…intense. Massively embarrassing on his part, too. But Cas seemed to trust this guy, and that was enough for Dean. Besides, despite the man's non-human status, Dean hadn't gotten the evil vibe from him whatsoever. His shoes crunched and popped over the rocks covering the lane. The air was cold at night, and his jacket wasn't much against the chill, but knowing he'd be fighting he'd get too warm for the thick canvas anyway.

Out of fucking nowhere, Dean was body-checked hard. Ribs aching, shoulder throbbing as he was thrown straight to the ground. He grunted, flat on his ass now, and glared upwards to see a terrifying toothy-grin sneering down at him, with sharp-ass fangs, nothing like the vamps he'd seen before. Bright eyes gleamed down, amused.

"What's doin, hunter?" Vishous asked in his mildly accented voice.

"God, you're creepy, you know that?" Dean replied.

Vishous smiled, eyes inhumanly bright. "Just a better version of you, my friend."

Yeah, right, Dean thought. He glanced towards his feet and back up to find a gloved hand waiting and extended. "C'mon, Winchester."

Dean grabbed it and was pulled up quickly off the ground. "So, uh, thanks for doing this." He smiled awkwardly.

"No worries, man. Always good to go a round or two, true?" Vishous shucked his t-shirt to reveal a big, muscled torso. Dean had to admit he was impressed. Dean got rid of his jacket but kept on his t-shirt, then thought of the new ink he'd gotten.

"Uh…don't hit my back, alright?"

V sniffed and then grinned wide. "Can I see?" he asked, walking in a half-circle around Dean.

Feeling as though it revealed more of himself than he would like, Dean hesitated. Heck, he barely knew the guy! Hands went for the hem of his shirt anyway. "Don't be all shy and shit, just show me." Vishous tugged and Dean ultimately yielded, reaching back to pull his shirt most of the way over his head.

Vishous whistled and let out a soft chuckle. "I like it! Damn, no, I friggin' love it. I could've done a better job with a needle mind you, but whatev's."

When Dean pulled his shirt back down and turned around to get down to the fighting, he was met with Vishous' contemplative, shrewd eyes. "Hunter, do you know anything about our culture?"

Dean shook his head.

"Hmm…interesting." The odd question was shoved off and Vishous sank into a fighting stance, his sharp fangy grin big and bright. Menacing and yet not disgusting like the vamps Dean had seen before.

Dean threw the first hit, missing—The fuck? Dude just goddamn disappeared.

"Ha! Betchya didn't see that shit coming," Vishous teased, throwing a right hook and getting Dean upside the chin. The hit snapped his head to the side and the throbbing pain along his jaw seemed to beeline right to his dick. Fuck…. He held out a hand for the man to stop.

"Oh shit," Vishous blurted. The blood drained from Dean's face, knowing that somehow Vishous knew how fucked up he was.

Without warning, V threw another, and then another, and then another. Dean wobbled to the side, the world going sideways. His body's reaction seemed to be fighting two different directions, and the angrier he got, the better it was. Meaning he wasn't about to have an incident. Thank Jesus!

"We just gotta"— _punch—"_ get you used to the fact that"— _punch—"_ beat downs fucking hurt, friend." _Punch_!

Annnnnd down we go.

Where are my feet? Dean tried to open his eyes through swollen slits and saw his feet sprawled out in front of him—attached to his legs, thankfully. With his head ringing, Dean tried to stand and heard V laugh at him.

"Doesn't feel so good no more, does it?"

Dean flipped him the bird. Groaning, he rolled over in order to get vertical. Eventually he made it to his feet and reset his shoulders, shook his head—oh fuck that did not help—and then threw a wild one, his fist hitting skin and bone.

Vishous growled. Fuelled by adrenaline, they continued to go at it.

By the end of the couple hours, there had been only a few close calls where he'd gotten a little too…excited. Vishous' cool, calm, and downright comedic act did wonders at calling that reaction to heel. It was damn relieving. Dean felt a lot like his old self by the end of it, actually enjoying the back and forth of it, the quick jabs, the bursts of action and breaks where they simply watched the other move into a new position. It gave a lot of confidence for future hunts, more than he'd had on the last few, finding clever ways to stay out of the hand-to-hand.

On his way home, bloody, swollen, and sore as fuck, Dean was smiling and singing to the one song he'd been trying to master on the guitar.

/\/\/\

Castiel held Crowley a foot in the air, a fist clutching his thick jacket to hold him up off the ground. " _Tell me the truth!_ Did you tell Sam?!"

" _No_! I didn't say a bloody word. Now let me down you angry kitten."

Cas dropped him carelessly and turned to face away, going over Crowley's refutes and denials. Even though his thoughts had seemed honest, Castiel wasn't sure he could believe the former King of Hell. For now, at least, it would have to be enough.

Crowley moved in beside him, eyes fixed on Cas' profile. "Making progress on that front?"

In a dry retort, Cas blew out a breath. "It will never happen and you know it."

Crowley's next words were soft and sincere, catching him off guard. "Don't be so sure, mate. It just might."

Surprised by the insinuation that there might be hope, Cas' eyes snapped to Crowley's, and yes, those thoughts too were honest. They stared for a beat longer, and then without saying a goodbye he beat his wings to take him home.

 


	29. The Things That Go Unnoticed

It was Friday and they had a hunt in play. The four of them, Dean and Cas in the front seat of the Impala, Sam and Jody in the back, making their way towards the outskirts of New York, the Big Apple. Or at least the tree, Dean amended. There was no way in hell he was heading into the crazy bowels that was New York City. Too many people. Too much aggression.  _No thanks._

As they drove, Dean's thoughts drifted to the night before, shooting glances to his right at Cas. Dean had managed to avoid the guy a good deal when he'd gotten back from his meetup with V. His angel, savior extraordinaire that he was, had wanted to heal him immediately, but Dean had hesitated, not sure what that would do to his freshly inked back. After some hemming and hawing, he finally told Cas very clearly to only heal his face, nothing else.

With some apprehension and a great deal of squinting, Cas relented and touched his face, healing the swollen eye and rickety jaw that had been clicking as he'd sang on the way back.

Vishous had surprised him, and that rarely happened for Dean. He wasn't sure how to categorize this new species with fangs, nothing like the row of mini-teeth daggers that the other vamps he'd encountered had. These fangs didn't snap down quite like the other vamps. There was just the two points, and they seemed to gradually grow depending on the man's mood. Fighting seemed to draw them out, making him look menacing as all hell. The goatee, and those tattoos around his one eye added to that effect for sure. And yet, Dean had felt relaxed around him, felt an instant camaraderie with the man. For that, he'd thanked Cas for setting up the sparring session and imagined there'd be more in the future.

He'd gone to bed in boxers and a t-shirt, and made-out with Cas like his life depended on it. He successfully reduced Cas to a helpless mess, reaching down to stroke through the Hanes boxer-briefs of Dean's that Cas had on. Pleasuring Cas as a distraction was damn effective he thought, as his hand had closed around the thick shaft, feeling it pulse and twitch in his palm. When Cas was sated and bleary twenty minutes later, Dean snugged up into his side and went to sleep.

Pulling out of his trance, complete with pictures of Cas laid out on his bed, Dean flicked his eyes to the right, noting how tense Cas seemed now compared to the night before. Rigid limbs Dean could handle, Cas knowing what he'd done, yeah, not quite ready for that one.

Castiel continued to shoot him cursory glances during the ride, a roaming assessment in attempt to figure out what was going on with Dean—the ever constant puzzle of crazy. But knowing the truth he held, Dean smiled back, reaching over to rest a hand on Cas' thigh, drumming out a beat with his fingers, feeling like the world was no longer turned inside-out—or at the very least, he wasn't.

It was a two-day drive to get where they were going, and if it had been only Dean, Sam, and Cas they might have powered through the twenty-some hour trip in a straight shot, but with four of them in the car, it was crowded and hot. Cas had suggested taking them the angel express way but it had been a long time since he and Sam had really been out on the road and he could tell both of them needed it. Needed the hum of tires that went on for hours, the passing scenery slipping by that made them feel like the world was at peace for the span of time it took them to reach whatever fucked situation they were heading towards. It had always been that way; the Impala was their safe-haven, their stretch of downtime taking them from one disaster to the next.

After a good twelve hours moving through flat lands, they pulled into some nondescript motel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, Ohio.

Sam and Jody went out with the Impala to pick up food for everyone, and some coffee for Cas.

Dean moved past Cas as they entered the motel room, a hand on his lower back with a kiss to his cheek as he slipped by. He went into the washroom with his bag and closed the door. He took a gander at his reflection. Beard was getting long again, hair even longer. He scratched across his face, thinking. Maybe he would ask Cas to trim him down? He wasn't sure he was ready to look like his old self, not sure why anymore. The pressure in his bladder made itself known, interrupting his thoughts and he quickly flipped the toilet lid and seat, pissed, and then washed his hands. When that was done, he pulled off the open button-down and then gently peeled the t-shirt off as well. He twisted at the waist and fixated on his back.

Like before, his breath faltered. It did something to him; moving things around inside his emotional command centre, feeling inexplicably linked and inked in such a permanent way. He'd never been happier with a decision in his life. But for the time being, it was still just for him. Like the guitar Sam had given him for Christmas, the tattoo was a way forward, a step away from the past that helped him in ways no stretch of time could have.

Reaching into his bag with a sigh, Dean pulled out the tiny metal container of salve he'd already had at home for burns and other job-related injuries. He did his best to rub some over the tattoo but he wasn't the most flexible of guys and reaching his arm over to his back, either from above or around the side, was not that easy.

There was a knock on the door. Quickly sticking the lid back on and shoving the container in his bag, he called out, "Just a minute, Cas."

"You've been weird," Cas spoke through the door.

Dean made a face as he pulled his t-shirt on, and then put his arms through the red and white plaid button-up. "Not sure what to say to that," he said as he pulled the door open.

Cas sniffed, his eyes widened. "It's that smell again!"

"It's nothing."

"Is there something I should know?" Cas stalked over to the bed and plunked down as if getting himself ready for bad news. He looked over at Dean with eyebrows so tightly cinched a deep crease formed in between.

Dean tossed his bag onto the floor beside the bed closest to him and walked over. He crouched down in front of Cas, placing his hands on his knees to draw his attention. "No, Cas. It's fine. Everything is more than okay to be honest. I feel pretty…normal." _For the most part._ "And the smell… it's just like lotion, ya know. For skin." He rubbed Cas' legs as he talked and felt the guy slowly relax.

"I worry about you," sighed Cas, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

Dean stood, putting his palm to Cas' cheek in the same motion. He brushed his thumb over the skin, his fingers tucking under the softness of Cas' earlobe. "With you here, there's no need to worry about me."

Castiel blinked slowly once, letting out a dragging exhale before he lifted his arm and—watching Dean for any reaction—pushed his hand up under Dean's shirt, palming across his abs and ribs. The touch of skin on skin while fully clothed was incredible. And it wasn't for anything more than needing to touch something bare. Needing to be that infinitesimally closer in that moment. It grounded them.

Sam and Jody returned fifteen minutes later with food. The four of them ate and napped for a few hours before hitting the road for the rest of their journey, aiming to get there by late afternoon.

/\/\/\

"So go over it again," Dean asked his brother. The motel rooms they'd gotten were tiny and so they were talking shop by the picnic tables set up at the far end of the motel strip. It was around three in the afternoon. The wind was gusty but the sun was out and it warmed the end of winter chill.

"Grave-robbery, people claiming they saw something suspicious but then not remembering what they actually saw. Crime rate is oddly low here though. Except for drugs. There's lots of arrests on drug charges but nothing ever seems to stick."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, you've said that. I still don't know what we're dealing with."

Sam and Jody exchanged a look. "I've been keeping something from you. So has Cas, I gather."

Dean chanced a glance to his left, Cas met his eyes but said nothing. "Tell me." But even though Dean was focusing on Cas, it was Sam who answered.

"I heard you met Cas' buddy with fangs right?"

Dean nodded, not caring to explain that technically he'd met the guy in another place, at another time.

"Do you know what he fights? Who their enemy is?"

Dean's brows slanted together and he racked his brain for answers. He knew in his gut that this all had something to do with what he'd been feeling lately; never realizing it was all tied in with his new sparring friend. Was V's group the problem? No, couldn't be. Dean knew evil when he saw it, whether it was human, monster, or even himself. He knew. Vishous was not evil. Not by his standards.

"Tell me everything Sam."

So Sam did. He told Dean all about lessers, the Omega, how their numbers were increasing. Hunters running into these guys left, right, and center it seemed. Dean could tell Sam was leaving out some stuff. It was made all the more obvious by the hesitant, ever-growing frustrated glances shot in Cas' direction. Castiel ignored Sam completely and Dean knew something was seriously wrong.

"Ok, what aren't you guys telling me?" Dean spouted, shooting off some angry looks at both of them.

Sam huffed indignantly and glared at Castiel, who remained stoic and unaffected. "Cas? Care to field that one?" Sam spoke through gritted teeth, plastering on a fake non-smile.

With a long sigh, Castiel faced Dean. "The increase in lessers is due to the fact that Heaven remains shut. The souls are being taken and turned. And as there is no way to reopen it, we are now facing a threat that was never an issue before. The Brotherhood, previously, were able to keep this group in check, both forces balancing out. They'd even begun the long journey of possibly wiping out this evil forever, but now, well…" Cas waved his hand of indication of the present situation.

"No way to reopen Heaven, huh?" Jody turned to Cas, Sam matching her offensive posture.

Dean must have had blinders on for the last while—which, okay, maybe he had—but had there always been this animosity between everyone? When the hell had that happened?

" _No_. There is not. You misunderstood me in our previous discussion on the matter."

What previous discussion? Sam made a kind of snort, turning away so as not to be facing Castiel. Whoa, Dean thought, Sammy was pissed.

"Cas?" Dean took a deep breath, his gaze passing over Sam's back and Jody's supremely pissed off glare. "What's going on with you guys?"

Geez, you go crazy for a few months and everyone falls apart!

"Well, Dean," Sam turned back around, bitch-face loaded, "your _boyfriend_ knows exactly how to fix Heaven, and he won't tell any of us what that is. So now, we have all these undead whatever things all over the friggin' place and all the while he's just sitting on this potential goldmine to fix the damn situation! People _are_ dying!"

Dean's teeth ached from how hard he was gritting them. "First of all, don't say ' _boyfriend'_ like that, alright?" he sneered. "And second of all, Cas be honest, is there a way to fix Heaven? I'm not asking if it's doable, or if you agree, or whatever, I'm just asking if it's possible." As he spoke, he moved closer, getting into Cas' personal space so that he could read the angel for reactions.

He sure as hell didn't expect to see those blue eyes go watery. It was only a split-second, but it was there. An errant emotion had broken through the surface, a pain or a longing. And then Cas whispered, "Yes, it's…it's possible."

Dean waited for more, for an explanation or elaboration but nothing came. He could feel two sets of eyes focused on them but something about the moment shifted when Cas raised his eyes to meet Dean's. Never had Dean witnessed a stare that said, 'please don't make me say it' more than that.

Dean angled his head to the side. "Give us a minute, would ya?"

Jody and Sam left, making their way to the rooms, trading looks along the way. Dean sat on the top of the picnic table, holding a hand out. "C'mere."

Cas set his shoulders, wiped his expression of anything telling and walked over to Dean— _not_ taking his hand.

He stood in front of Dean, just close enough that his shins barely touched the picnic bench seat. "Dean, I would tell you. You know that." The wind gusted then, ruffling Cas' hair.

The words didn't reassure Dean as they should have. A whole year of lying a long time ago reminded him that sometimes Cas kept secrets for what he thought was the greater good. Maybe it was justified in this case, and maybe it wasn't. His old self would have found some way to get it out of him. The man he was now…that man reached forward to pull Cas towards him, needing to be rid of the distance. Things between them were confusing enough as it was. He didn't want to complicate that.

"Promise me there's a good fucking reason you're not telling anyone?" he said with his head hanging down between them. Begging for that trust, begging Cas not to ruin them with a stupid, unwarranted lie. There were so many other things that could make Dean lose his goddamn mind, and he really didn't want Cas to be the reason for that.

Cas' fingers found their way to his head, carding through his hair, pulling a long breath out of him. The angel caressed him in that easy way for a minute before lowering his hands to Dean's jaw and tilting it up high, his head falling back as Cas leaned over him, hands moving to brace on Dean's thighs.

He crept forward for a kiss but stopped just shy of it. "If telling you or Sam or anyone would set in motion the way to fix Heaven, I would in a heartbeat. I know I've done things that have abused your trust in the past, but things are different now. We're different now."

Dean nodded. "Okay." And only then did Cas kiss him. It was soft and light, like a breath. He parted his lips for more, seeking the heat of Cas' mouth in the otherwise chilly afternoon air. Castiel's warm tongue teased between their lips, dipping into him with a slow lick and they both let out a quiet moan of relief.

When they parted, eyes meeting and Cas' hands rubbing along his thighs, Dean said, "Sam won't like it, you know."

Castiel half-smiled, considering the comment. "Neither would you have previously."

Dean laughed a bit sarcastically. "True," he said, taking one of Cas' hands in his. "Guess I'm just a big, trusting softie now…with some serious issues."

In the back of his mind, Dean badly hoped letting Cas keep this secret wasn't a dumbass mistake. And this, he reminded himself, was a great example of how love made you blind. But maybe giving into Cas was all about being selfish, because really, Dean was happier not knowing whatever the hell it was that was putting distance between the man he loved, and his only real family. For now, he didn't want to know the secret.

Not yet.

If Cas was keeping this secret, he decided to believe that it was with good reason. Didn't they say trust was the foundation of a good relationship? Look at that, Dean thought, I'm learning or growing…or whatever.

/\/\/\

That night, Castiel sent Vishous a text letting him know that the war with the lessers had caught the attention of hunters and that they were in town lending a hand.

The responding text he received said: "About damn time!"

Castiel did a scan of the area they were in, some outer suburb of New York proper, and couldn't seem to find anything. But that didn't mean that there wasn't anything either.

The four of them, knives hidden but available, found themselves in the area's club district. Music beat around them in the streets, women were dressed in next to nothing, and men were obnoxious. It felt like they were patrolling and Castiel didn't care for the aimless feel of the hunt. He preferred knowing more about how things would end. Knowing how to deal with demons and other monsters was second nature for the most part. This was entirely new.

The temperature had dropped significantly, and while the crisp chill didn't bother him, it still affected the feel of the night. Everything seemed…still. A bit ominous perhaps. With each step, all of them searching for a foe they have never had to deal with before, the tension in the air increased.

Reaching the end of a block, the sound of partying and delighted shrieks behind them, it was almost as if the temperature plummeted here. The wind gusted into the gap between the buildings, where there was a narrow pedestrian pathway that worked its way tightly between waste bins and loose refuse. Sam and Jody, in the lead, turned down the alley. From what Castiel could see, it went straight through the block to the other side where there was a cross street, and what resembled a large park beyond that.

A third of the way in, the smell hit him first; that cloying smell of evil that he'd maybe only caught the scent of a handful of times in his long life.

"Stop," he whispered sharply. They all turned to face him. Every one of their expressions switched into startled observation as their collective gaze zeroed in on a spot somewhere behind him.

He turned back, letting out one of his blades in the same motion, meeting the dead eyes of the four lessers blocking the entrance of the alley. He heard footsteps approaching from behind and knew two more had entered from the back near the park. Six in total.

Dean was the first to break the silence. "Oh, I know wrong when I see it and you freaks are _definitely_ wrong."

The lessers cast their eyes slowly to Dean, serving him up a sneer but said nothing, just sizing the situation up. Castiel could feel a good fight coming and hoped that it wouldn't go sideways.

And, naturally, of all times for Dean's former personality to make a grand appearance, it just so happened to be then. "You know you smell like a baby's ass, right?"

Castiel silently cursed, while Sam barked at Dean in a harsh whisper of his name. The lessers remained quiet, their eyes trained to watch every shift.

And, of course, Dean didn't stop there. "And seriously, you need to Just-For-Men that shit." Dean waved his hand in the general upwards area of their heads, the hair paled out from death.

Maybe this was Dean's way of fortifying himself for the fight. Castiel hoped anyway. At some untold cue, the couple of lessers behind Sam and Jody made a run at them. Dean, in nearly the same moment took off towards all four in front. Castiel wasted no time in chasing Dean's heels.

A gun-shot pierced the cold night from behind them, but with a fast cursory glance backwards, Castiel saw that the shot was wasted. Sam and Jody, thankfully, were fine.

Speeding towards the fray, he managed to lay waste to two of them, a dagger in each hand, the pointy end piercing through a dead chest cavity—one lesser on his right, one on the left. There was a bizarre pop, flash of light, and then they were gone into ether.

Dean was in hand-to-hand with the other two, and it didn't look good. Castiel came up from behind, both knives out when one of the lessers turned suddenly, their arm swinging back and low, shooting him point-blank in the gut. The sharp crack of the gun bounced loud around the tight passage between the buildings.

The rush of pain was bewildering. He was an angel. Bullets don't hurt angels….

Head falling down, Castiel saw blood and a sliver of blue light. That's not good, he thought. Wobbling on his feet, Castiel wondered what the hell that sound was that he was suddenly hearing. Was there an animal here?

With clouded eyes, he managed to look over to find Dean yelling and growling, slashing at both lessers; landing blows with knees and fists at every opportunity. Heavy shoes hit the pavement from the other direction and he saw Sam and Jody racing towards him, shooting glances at Dean, who, in all appearances, had lost control. With his arms bunched in straining muscle, the veins popping out angrily, Dean roared as he fought, looking like an animal gone wild.

Sam skidded down to Cas' level. _Huh?_ Cas glanced upwards. "Oh, I'm on the ground, aren't I?"

He felt Sam's hands on his stomach, checking him or doing something, he didn't know. Castiel watched Jody try to help Dean out, who snarled at her and kept fighting. The break in focus causing him to get hit pretty hard in the ribs, but that only seemed to make Dean angrier.

"This is not good," Castiel said flatly, looking at Sam who seemed very much in agreement. "I'm fine. Help your brother." He gestured towards the fight.

"Cas, you're not fine, you're bleeding, and besides," Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean, "I don't think Dean needs any help."

Castiel followed the direction of those hazel eyes and saw that, indeed, Dean did not need help. At least not help handling the fight, he thought wryly. Jody was standing awkwardly to the side, blade ready and waiting for Dean to allow her into the brawl. But he was, somehow, in his simple human strength, able to keep up with both lessers.

One irate, but very random stabbing from Dean managed to hit home and one of the two remaining lessers fizzled out of existence with a flash of light. Dean seemed stunned, like he'd forgotten they could die with such ease. Castiel noticed the flicker of disappointment and it really worried him. He felt pressure on his stomach and glanced down to see Sam pressing his jacket in a bundle against the wound.

A shot rang out a third time, but thankfully it missed. Dean ripped the gun free and tossed it down. Castiel noticed it close by and picked it up, smelling the chamber and realizing why the bullets had hurt him. They were hand-made and definitely special. Engineered to cause damage to a great many creatures. Sadly for him, that included angels. It would seem that lessers had become privy to the fact that angels were now helping out the Brotherhood. They surely couldn't be happy about that.

"Dean…" Castiel tried to get Dean's attention, but his voice was weak. The rage that had erupted from Dean after Cas had gone down was remarkable as it was terrifying. But still, he tried to snap him out of it. "Dean! I'm fine. Just kill it!" The feeble shout barely carried over the noise of bone hitting bone and growling.

The strain of the attempted yell caused pain to flare up in him, the intensity of it disorienting.

"Hey, hey, relax, Dean's fine." Sam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sadly, they both knew Sam was lying.

Dean knocked the lesser's feet out from under him. It fell, Dean followed, both scrambling on the dirty, cold asphalt. A wet gurgle following a grunt from Dean telling them that the lesser's throat had been sliced open. But that wasn't the end of it. For the next horrifying few minutes, Dean spent bent over, blade in hand, cutting up the black-blooded undead creature with the washed-out hair and the sick-sweet smell that intensified the longer Dean kept at it.

There was a rough, deranged sound coming from him, and murmurs that sounded like speech drowned out by delirium. Someone needed to stop Dean. And Castiel didn't have the strength.

As though a certain goatee'd vampire had heard his plea, a presence appeared out of thin air. Castiel pushed Sam a little of the way so he could look up to see Vishous…and, also, a big man in a baseball cap that looked very ill, and oddly, smelled exactly like those creatures. Brian O'Neil then, he surmised.

Dean was still slicing away. "Why won't you die?" he croaked, his slices turning eerily calm and methodical.

Vishous was the one to step up, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean?"

When Dean managed to turn his face up, it was terrifyingly devoid of expression. Vishous looked at the man with a soft smile and said, "Hey buddy." The blood-covered, rage-filled Dean on his knees gave V a helpless stare. Squeezing Dean's shoulder, V calmed Dean with his voice, "You're all done, my friend. He's not going to hurt anyone. I promise. We'll take it from here."

Castiel half-crawled, half-dragged himself over to Dean, Sam awkwardly trying to keep the jacket secured against his wound. He put a hand on Dean's back, commanding his attention.

"I'm okay. Their bullets are…effective, but it's nothing I won't…be fully healed from…in a matter of…hours."

Dean stared back like Castiel had told him something obtrusively complicated, tilting his head, shifting his gaze between Cas, V, his brother, and Jody. When Dean's wandering eyes made their way back around to Cas, he said, "I'd kill anything for you, you know that right? _Anything_." Dean swallowed, his eyes hard and filled with pain.

All of them were silent as Cas stared back, seeing the brief break in Dean's composure. Castiel knew what he was really saying, knew what he'd left out of that statement. It wasn't about the lesser anymore, and maybe it never was to begin with. This had been all about Dean killing the part of himself that he hated.

"I know." Castiel's eyelids fluttered down, the effort to keep them up turning out to be more difficult than expected. Concentrating, he tried to heal himself but realized quickly, something would need to be done about that bullet first. "Vishous, I could use some assistance."

"'Course. Butch, wanna take care of our mangled friend there?" Vishous said, nodding towards Dean's handiwork.

"With pleasure," Butch replied, going down to his knees and bending over the body. Sam pulled Dean out of the man's way, plopping his brother loosely beside Castiel like he were a bag of sand. Dean didn't seem to really notice.

Everyone but V watched in fascination as Butch sucked the evil out of the lesser. And when it was done? There was no pop, no flash of light, but more a cloud of ash or brown smoke…it was hard to tell. Castiel had never seen anything like it before.

The man that V referred to as Butch rolled to the side when it was done and immediately let out the contents of his stomach, heaving violently. Sam, Dean, and Jody all winced from the wretched awful sound of it—

"— _Hey_ , earth to Angel, this is going to hurt like a bitch," V spoke into his face. Castiel met his eyes and nodded gravely, leaning back to give the male room. His back hit the brick wall and he rested there.

"Wait, what are you doing to him?" Dean spun around to face them, sitting back on his heels. Cas wanted to tell him not to worry but just laid there instead. This bullet had really done a number on him.

Vishous pulled Castiel's shirt out of the way, handing Sam back his jacket at the same time, speaking as he moved, "Dean, the bullets they use have been recently upgraded. Let's say they've got some extra punch to them. One of those badboys is embedded in Castiel's abdomen and in order for him to heal, it's gotta come out. Now, I'll need your help, as I don't want to make this any more painful than necessary. I know you've seen your share of blood so I'm not worried. And you should know: I'm a hell of a nurse." Vishous turned back to wink, before adding, "Also my Shellan is a hot ass doctor so I've got some pretty sick skills when it comes to the doctor-patient stuff. That being said, we're not doing surgery here, and he's an Angel, so we just need to dig that bullet out, true?"

Vishous smiled at him and moved into place. A pained groan came from somewhere on Cas' far left. V didn't even turn around. "Cop, I'll get to ya. Hold on Brother."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Sam.

With a weighted pause, Vishous turned at his waist, pivoting on the balls of his feet from his crouch; first looking at Butch crumpled and in obvious discomfort on the ground, a hand over his stomach, and then to Sam who was squatted down to be at eye level with the rest of them. "You're the in-house tech and research guru, yeah?" Sam nodded. "I imagine after Castiel and I started talking, you had questions, did some research? You read up on anything about a prophecy?" Sam slowly nodded again. Vishous grinned and gestured to his friend. "Meet Butch."

Turning back to Castiel and Dean, Vishous pulled Dean closer. "Now, I need you to put your hands here, keep pressure while I try to find this thing."

Making a sickly sound in his throat, Dean powered on and did as told. Castiel watched, half-intrigued, half-losing consciousness. The whole scene in the alley turned strangely fuzzy, like they were all sitting in a cloud. Something about that thought Castiel found amusing, and he laughed. Dean's gaze flashed to him, a deep frown set into his face.

Seeing V push his sleeves up, Dean said, "Please don't tell me you're actually gonna dig around in there for that bullet…with-with your hands?"

Vishous shot an annoyed look to the side but didn't cater to the question with a response.

"Ready?" V asked.

"No." Dean and Cas both muttered.

"Alright then, let's dig." V smiled, the tips of his fangs barely visible. Castiel had to remember to call that man a sadist when this was over.

With Dean's hands keeping pressure around the wound to stem the flow of blood, Vishous stuck in two fingers into the bullet-hole and Castiel blinked as a black cloud danced throughout his field of vision. The pain was weird; sickening pressure combined with an occasional piercing, stabbing sensation which dominated his world for about five seconds until suddenly, he felt relief. Followed by a dull ache.

"Damn, this bullet _is_ special," V reflected in near awe, holding it in the air, taking stock of its makeup. With the bullet gone, Castiel tried to heal himself but the damage had drained his power and he simply felt too tired to do anything more than lay there.

"Cas, get on with it," Dean insisted, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

Sam was there too. "What's wrong with him? Why isn't he healing?"

"He's been shot with a bullet that's got about five different components to it. A small portion of which contains whatever the hell makes up those wicked angel blades they have. He's whipped. Give him time." Vishous pocketed the special ammo and made his way over to his friend. "Wanna make your way towards the light, cop?" The question was followed by a groan and a thickly spat: 'Fuck off'. They heard V laugh and then the two were quiet.

"Cas?" There was Dean's voice again. Hmmm…. So deep, and _sexy_.

"Your voice is arousing," Castiel muttered, his eyes fluttering as the pain washed over him in muted throbs, his energy sinking fast as his body tried to heal.

Dean's eyes were abruptly right in his face, maybe two inches away. The stare was fierce. "Hey, probably not the time to hit on me, but thanks. Listen, I know you're tired, but you gotta try to heal yourself, k? I don't wanna be needy or anything, but, well—fuck it—I am. Can't handle seeing you like this. So get that angel mojo workin', alright?"

Castiel tried to nod but ended up letting his head fall forward and cracking Dean on the nose with his forehead. Then he was out like a light.

/\/\/\

By the time Cas came to, they were still in the alley. Sans cloud and a fog of pain, though. Butch was no longer looking ill, and everyone was standing except himself and Dean, whose nose had a red mark across the bridge from Castiel's forehead. Remembering the bullet, his hand went for his stomach and felt through the gaping shirt to find smooth skin. Sweat was cool on his forehead and in his hair and other places. The healing and injury had exhausted him, but the majority of the damage was now taken care of.

"Hey, everything good?" Dean had a hand on his thigh and one on his face. The man's palm was warm and…wet?

Castiel looked sideways and realized Dean was covered in the black blood of the enemy. He frowned, remembering the way Dean had looked, crazed, and fighting with more or less straight-up adrenaline rather than skill or strength.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "Are you?"

Dean blinked, looked down at himself and seemed to finally clue in that was covered in black syrupy goo. Focusing hard, he turned his hands over and saw the bloodied knuckles and scrapes. With a poor attempt to wipe his shaking hands on his jeans, he said, "I'm fine. I'm good. Yeah." His hands not the only thing about him that trembled.

Sam helped Dean up out of his crouch and V did the same for Cas, the blood draining from his head as he stood, but thankfully he suffered only minor listing, before regaining his bearings.

Dean was reaching for him immediately, taking his hand and trying to pull him closer, but Castiel felt V's hard stare on him and he pulled away from Dean reluctantly. Behind them, Jody, Sam, and Butch were discussing something quietly. The pitch and fall of Sam's voice telling Castiel that he was intrigued and fascinated, asking question after question of the man of prophecy who Castiel noted had a peculiar accent characterized by the lack of enunciating the 'r' sound.

"We need to talk." V said, glancing at Dean for a moment to gauge the temperature between them before dragging Castiel down the alley with quick checks of the surroundings.

/\/\/\

As he watched Castiel laboriously following Vishous down the alley, Dean wondered for a moment if V was planning to tell Cas about the tat. The second his brain made the decision to follow after them, V looked up from twenty feet away and met his eyes. It was like the club all over again, that initial tick of familiarity. Giving Dean a single blink, somehow Dean knew to stay where he was, that Vishous wasn't about to give him up. He didn't know how he knew, he just did.

The fight had given him some pretty bad shakes and the cool blood sticking to him in the chilled night air didn't help in the least. Especially not as the relentless gusts of wind seemed to tunnel between the buildings and rip right through him. The scary thing about the fight was that he couldn't remember any of it. Nothing after the sight of Cas getting shot and slowly sinking to the ground, that flash of grace cracking through the bullet wound had sent Dean into a rage. Everything after that was black…

He'd done good in the fight though, he knew that. For two reasons: One, because his hands felt enormous and were throbbing with dull pain, and second, because despite the black sludge everywhere, there was no white crust around his crotch so…yay.

Each passing minute, Dean was feeling more and more strung out. Twenty minutes later, they'd made it back to the motel, dirty and tired, but alive. Castiel's skin was ashen and sweaty. Dean couldn't stop his eyes from darting to the side in the back of the car, repeatedly checking to make sure the angelic grace wasn't flaring inside the angel towards death or anything. 'Cause every damn time he closed his eyes it was all he could fucking see.

After several long minutes, with them piled into one of the rooms, the heat cranked high on the thermostat and humming into the room, Dean broke the silence.

"So what now?"

Sam and Jody shared a look, and then Sam said, "Well, Butch, the Sox-cap guy, he is supposedly the one that can kill the thing that creates these undead guys."

"The Omega whackjob you told me about earlier?"

"Yeah, him. Obviously you saw the difference between us stabbing them in the heart and Butch, like, inhaling them or whatever."

"Kinda hard to miss," Dean agreed.

Jody looked up from her lean against the TV stand. "He told Sam and me that when they are stabbed, the mojo that keeps them alive, some part of the Omega gets flashed back to him, like a revolving door of evil. But what Butch does it totally different; he's taking it into himself. It's why he looked like he'd eaten rotten chicken."

"Yeah, and then he was fine after Vishous went over to him. What happened there?" Dean asked, now looking to Cas for an answer, who so far seemed preoccupied and distant.

"Sorry, what?" Cas blinked, turning to face them.

"What were you and V talking about?" Dean changed course, deeming the new topic more important.

"Nothing, they are struggling. It's getting much worse."

Dean and Sam shared a look they'd shared many times before, the 'shit's-about-to-hit-the-fan' look. "Cas, how does V fix the Sox fan?"

Castiel squinted, his head tipping to the right, "He's a fan of socks? That's odd. I mean they're warm and—"

"—Cas!" Dean interrupted, secretly enamoured by Cas' obliviousness. "Not the clothing. It's a baseball team. Anyways…what does V do?"

"Oh, he is a descendant of a deity and has a peculiar ability to banish certain amounts of evil. Similar to the way I can kill a demon but the metaphysics of death or, more accurately, inexistence in this case are drastically different."

When Cas finished talking everyone was staring at him. Dean said, "No idea what the fuck you just said at the end there, but basically you're saying Vishous gets rid of the evil that Butch sucks up?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Just when you think you've seen it all…" Dean muttered mostly to himself, 'cause let's face it, he'd seen his fuckload of messed up shit. But two men (correction: vampires) acting like an industrial processor of evil was certainly new.

For the most part, Dean had managed to keep it together but with each passing minute, the urge to shove Sam and Jody out the door was eating away at him. Every other breath, a flash of Cas dying in front of him crashed into his mind and it wouldn't stop. He knew it was only a matter of time before the images warped and turned ugly. All the crazy upstairs was rattling loose and he closed his eyes to try and stop it, but all that did was bring on things he'd rather not see.

There was only one thing he needed to feel okay. And that was Cas. The comforting heat of his body, feeling it alive and safe beside him. The deep blue eyes that could calm him and unravel him as necessary. He needed it all tonight, and he needed it now.

Cas' deep voice broke into his thoughts. "Let's get some rest," he said, watching Dean with a keen eye. Sam seemed to understand, getting the urge to leave in precisely that moment and walked to the door, his broad hand on Jody's back, rubbing it gently. As he held the door open, Sam looked back at his brother.

"After what happened, you still gonna let Cas keep this secret?" asked Sam with a bitter edge.

Dean's jaw clenched as he glared at his brother. "Yes. I am actually. Now get the goddamn hell out of our room."

Feeling free to let his earlier fear drive his actions, he went for Cas just as the door clicked shut. He threw his arms around Castiel's neck, pushing his hands up into his hair and kissed him hard, moaning at the sheer relief of feeling the angel's hard body against him.

A flow of energy rippled over his skin and he realized Cas had cleaned him up; all the icky sludge gone from his skin and clothes, even under his nails. Cas looked worse for wear because of it, the colour draining from the angel's face with the minor show of power. It only reminded Dean of how much of a close call it had been. What if the bullet had pierced his heart?

Shaken as he was, Dean moved with determination, reaching to pull Cas' jacket off as Castiel palmed the back of his head to bring him down for more of the heated kissing…

 _He stood strong and dominant, the demons on their knees surrounding him. Abaddon felt resplendent in her new meat. She was letting them all take turns sucking her off. Which meant Dean too, of course. He was there, huddled in his own subconscious feeling every mouth on him, every exploratory finger, every bite of sharp teeth. And_ Her _moaning inside his head, the sound coming out in his voice._

The blood drained from his face but Dean kept going. No way was he letting that shit back in, he needed Cas. After tonight his need was everything. All around him. He flinched every time a new memory poured like acid into his brain, but he kept tugging Cas' clothes off, rhyming off promise after promise that he would kill anything that threatened his angel.

"Even me…even me," he said.

Dean didn't care or even really notice that Cas wasn't going for his clothes, he'd moved on and started doing that himself. Cas was shadowing the movements of his hands as he ripped himself free of layers, his pants got stuck and he kept pushing them down until they were nothing but shackles around his ankles. He lunged at Cas' mouth, breathing the scent of his face and breath. Cas kissed him back but it was hesitant and skeptical. Dean kissed harder, wanting to feel the bite of a hard touch; it was more real than anything else.

"I can't lose you…after everything…I'm not strong enough for that," he said in low words against Cas' skin, kissing and cherishing every inch of his body from his forehead, to his eyelids, to the curve of his neck, ears, chest, nipples, ribs… He went down and down until he was on his knees…

" _Dean, honey, we all know you love cock, and this one is all yours." She crooned as she forced them to the floor and let one of her favourites fuck his mouth raw. She laughed inside his head, laughed with joy, pumping his blood full of pleasure even as he coughed and gagged. His sensations split between her influence and his experience in whatever capacity she allowed it. Always in control. "Of course baby, you're mine now."_

Dean swallowed Cas down in one go. _Yes, Dean, suck it good before he's gone._ Forcing himself down into Cas' groin, eating up the thick, heady scent, he held himself there, trading oxygen for Cas' cock until he neared passing out. With a wet sounding gasp, he pulled off. Saliva beginning to drip down his chin, Dean mouthed at the head, sucking the tip hard and then flicking the sensitive spot on the underside. Cas' erection didn't seem to be staying hard and Dean imagined he must be doing an awful job.

_It's not enough Dean! You need to give him more. Gotta let the angel fuck you open like you did to him, like we did. You know you want that, you know you need him to claim you. Baby, spread yourself open before you ruin it, just like you ruined everything, just like you ruined us._

There was sharp throb coming from his scalp, and he didn't comprehend that Cas was trying to pull him off. To Dean, the rough grip was encouragement. That bite of pain, mixed with Cas' half-hard cock in his mouth made Dean shake and his dick hopped with excitement.

_Yessss… Let him rattle you, baby. Do it now before he's gone. You need him._

Dean's breath hitched, he shook his head trying to split the two paths his brain was going. He kept seeing Cas dying, and now worse, and _She_ was right, he needed this. The world was white-washing away and they were at the center of it. And soon there would be nothing.

Somewhere, he could hear a voice, a murmur in his ears but everything else in his head was so loud that anything else just got pushed out. Dean managed to get himself on two feet, his throat sore, pulling Cas to the bed, grabbing at his neck and his arms. "C'mon, Cas…I need you…I need you."

Those plush lovely lips were moving but Dean wasn't hearing a word of it. "Fuck me Cas, I'm yours. Make me all yours before you die. You're gonna die, Cas. We're all gonna die." Dean's heart stopped and then in a split-second it was back and more distressed than ever. Cause it would probably be him that would do the killing.

 _Of course it will be you_.

Dean pulled and pulled. "Please," he sobbed, trying to get Cas down on the bed and inside of him. All of him ached for it, he needed to _feel_ it, needed to feel all of Cas, every thick inch, wanted to swallow the warm release, and know that a part of his angel would be absorbed into him. Cas was only flaccid because Dean's mouth wasn't enough. Who was he kidding?! Of course it wasn't. Because Cas needed more, needed to be deep inside Dean, just like Dean wanted too.

Words mangled with sobs, Dean pleaded, "Pl-please Cas, take mmm-me 'part. Spread my legs, t-t-t-take me, go deep into me, all the-the-the way. Its-its the righ-ight thing."

Strong arms swung around Dean's torso, trapping his arms and squeezing tight. A vice-grip that left him hardly able to breathe. "Cas! What are you doing? We need this," he cried.

I need this, he thought. I need you.

Dean bit Cas' skin in frustration from being trapped but the angel didn't respond, continuing to hold Dean in the barricade of his arms. Dean sniffed, and murmured into Cas' ear, begging.

A sharp sound pierced the room and the light exploded overhead throwing everything into darkness. Dean was begging harder, desperate to have Cas with him before the angel was killed by Dean's own hands in some awful, inevitable future. He was responsible for tonight, he knew it. Dean was the reason everything was going sideways. It was his fault that the lessers were everywhere. And Cas…was…. Cas was—

_Dean watched in horror as Cas' hand went to his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers. There was a look of shock on his face, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide. A flicker of blue light was visible beneath Cas' bloodied hand and Dean felt his whole world collapse. And then all he saw was black._

The blue light surrounded him now, hurting his eyes, wide shadows ominously crowding the room. Flashes of familiar sights flickered in and out of his subconscious but it couldn't override the need, couldn't break the cycle that he'd tumbled into.

"Cas?" he begged weakly, trying to rub his crotch against whatever it was touching. The please he mouthed afterwards barely had sound.

Finding Cas' eyes, Dean saw the unnaturally bright blue surrounded by pale skin. The room had sunken back into darkness, shadows falling from the walls. Without warning, something soft and warm enveloped him, and for a moment he thought maybe it was Cas' grace or wings. Maybe Cas was loving and holding him in a different way. But when he looked down, he saw it was only a thick fleece blanket covering him up.

No, goddammit!

"No, no, no… Don't you want me too? Please, we don't-we don't"—Dean started to hyperventilate—"ha-ave a lot of time. I-I can feel it. The end is coming," he declared, looking sharp into Cas' widened blue eyes, fixed on Dean in a way that said something was really, really wrong.

"I know, I know, I know… You're w-worried," Dean rambled then, "But it's fine. See?" Trying to smile, he felt his nose running. Sniffing a few times, Dean licked his lips, worried how many days they had left in this broken world. "I am so ready. Cas I need us, like," he sniffed again and tried to bring his hands together to link his fingers in a visual display of what he wanted, of what he meant, but they were still trapped so he shrugged pathetically. "I need us togeth-together… I need that. Give me…that. Be-f-f-f-ore the end, k?" Dean's voice kept breaking, stuttering as his lip trembled, his lungs hitching and he hated that it made his argument seem any less valid.

Cas frowned, regarding him with deep concentration, a hand rubbing his back in quick passes. "Yes, Dean." Castiel answered placidly, stroking him. Dean felt a crashing wave of relief with those words. All the fire and ice in him would be mellowed. Finally. With Cas inside him, it would all be right.

"Good, c'mon, c'mon…" Dean tried to step backwards but nearly tripped, his pants still pooled at his feet. Thankfully, Cas was still holding him tight and secure. Nice and safe…

The soothing hand on his back went up to his head and squeezed gently the back of his neck.

"I'm very sorry Dean."

Dean blinked, feeling wetness on his lashes, his stomach seemed to drop. "Sorry for what?"

From the periphery, he saw the hand coming up to his forehead, he parted his lips to yell at Cas _no_ , but it was too late.

/\/\/\

Dean went limp in his arms and Castiel let the floodgates open, tears streaming silently down his face. His chest ached horribly as he let the pain take him over, his body in tremors as he gripped Dean tight to himself. He couldn't have imagined Dean could snap from being relatively fine to not even remotely aware of himself or what he'd been doing. Cas had been drained as it was and trying to fend Dean off—a man of roughly two-hundred pounds fired up on adrenaline, combined with the commanding intensity of his emotions—was nearly impossible. He'd built up stores of energy and let it flare out along with the shadows of his wings to try and shock Dean back into some concept of normal, but even that hadn't worked. And so he had to knock Dean out the same as he'd done in the past. It felt like cheating, and he hated it.

Reorganizing his face into normalcy, smoothing out his own features, sniffing, and wiping his damp cheeks, Castiel lifted Dean and lowered him gently to the bed, making sure the thick blanket stayed securely wrapped around him. Dean must have stretched his lips too wide, or maybe banged one on Castiel's teeth while they'd kissed, and as a result there was a thin split in his top lip. A bright red line, not actively bleeding, but there. Cas touched the spot to have it gone. A breath hitched in his throat but he pushed the emotion down, trying to forget the last fifteen minutes. For a moment, Castiel had thought, or rather hoped, that things were fine, but the more Dean pulled at him, all but tearing their clothes off despite Castiel's ignored objections, muttering mindless pleas, not hearing a word he said, Castiel realized how quickly things had gone wrong.

He walked in a daze to the bag he had, pulled out pajama bottoms and a plain t-shirt, throwing both on. He climbed into bed and wrapped himself around Dean. It still didn't feel like it was enough though, and he wished he weren't so tired, or he would pull his wings fully into this plane of reality and wrap a large wing over Dean. Instead, he buried his face in Dean's hair and squeezed the blanket-covered body tighter against himself. A single sob managed to escape, and it hurt. Everything hurt.

That night he slept.

Castiel slept because he was exhausted, he slept because he'd been shot, but mostly, he slept because he couldn't bear the thought of the future for another fucking minute.

/\/\/\

Back in the alley, in a pothole on the far left side of the pathway, sunken right up against the building, a phone lay in the groove. Black and nearly invisible in the shadows, it had been tossed off by one of the undead during the fight. Though it had been mere feet from where Castiel and Vishous had spoken, neither had noticed it. And worse, neither knew the device had been on, recording every word. The knowledge about to be gained by the other side was detrimental.

Strolling down the path, pale skin looking aglow in the moonlight, the white-haired lesser smiled the way only evil can. The corners of his thin mouth pinched into the corners, one side a little higher than the other. Yes, H thought, today was the day he would be noticed. Today was the day _his_ idea had panned out. All the other lessers thought they were so fucking special. This time, it would be H who would get their Master's attention and praise. Whistling low, he bent to the ground and snatched up the phone. Clicking off the recording, he stuck the thing into his jeans' pocket.

"Oh, Master, have I got a surprise for you."

 


	30. The Unrest of Evil

An order-up bell pinged in the distance, the black veil lifting and Dean found himself in a typical, everywhere-in-America diner. The booth he was in was dark red and plush with a plastic covering, white lines piping the seams. The placemat was a rectangular piece of paper with the menu written on it and advertisements for local businesses acting as a frame to box in the list of greasy-this and greasy-that.

Fluorescent lights hung in domes in two rows down the long line of the restaurant.

Dean stared, confused, thinking it was a dream as he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here.

"What'll ya have?" a waitress asked him, her pen poised over a tiny notepad flipped open.

"Um…pie. I guess." He frowned, still thrown off by the whole atmosphere, not sure how to proceed.

An amused snort arose from across the booth, where, previously, there had been no one. Now, a familiar set of blue eyes, unkempt medium brown hair and weeks' old beard characterized the man across from him. Though ' _man_ ' might be putting it loosely.

"Is this real?" Dean asked, looking into the face of God as the waitress bustled off with his order.

"In a way," Chuck answered serenely, reaching out to grab a cup of coffee that magically appeared on the table.

Dean exhaled an annoyed breath and let his head swing back, staring down at Chuck across the table. "You're a fucking asshole," he said, his voice sharp.

Instead of expected wrath, Dean received a compassionate but saddened smile. "I do only what I can."

Dean had to admit that the male form across the booth looked nothing like an all-powerful God. More like the simple, life-in-chaos Chuck that he and Sam had first met.

The waitress returned with his slice of apple pie and placed it on the table with a fork. Unfortunately, he'd lost his appetite. Though the pie looked pretty damn tasty, he was too downtrodden to dig in.

He bowed his head, not wanting to see the face Chuck made as Dean asked his next question. "It's all on me, isn't it?"

There was a long silence that made his skin tight, the weight feeling heavier than ever. And then he heard sipping and a clink as the mug was placed back on the table. "I'm not here to give you answers. I can't."

 _For fucks' sake!_ "Oh c'mon! God takes a little dream-walk in my noggin and he can't so much as answer a simple fucking question!" Dean snapped, pushing his plate away so he wouldn't throw good pie, wasting something he might want to eat later. Dream or not, pie was pie.

Chuck frowned in a kind way. "I'm here to offer comfort."

Dean laughed, shaking his head, pushing his hands roughly into his hair. "Right. Awesome! Thanks _Oh, Mighty Lord_! I probably could've used some support, say, I dunno, when I was being repeatedly broken and molested in Hell! While that bitch used me to fuck through every goddamn demon, soul, monster, and poor motherfucker that she snatched from up here on earth. So, yeah, no offense and all, but I'm gonna pass on that offer of comfort."

Chuck flinched, grimacing through his plainly evident guilt. "I didn't know that would happen, Dean. I swear."

"Bull-shit."

"Call BS all you want. I'm not this great, all-mighty deity you think of me. Maybe once, a long time ago, but now I'm just here to guide, clinging onto threads of my own shattered faith. The Chuck you met is a surprisingly true depiction of the real me. I'm no more than a man writing stories in a broken-down home surrounded by nothing but air."

Dean glared with every ounce of hate in him, waiting for more of an answer than that. Finally, he caved with another statement framed as a question, "It's still a damn apocalypse," he argued. "Same song, different dance." Isn't it?

"Eat your pie," Chuck commanded, his tone paternally authoritative. And what do you know? Dean was suddenly ravenous, pulling the plate to him and digging a fork into the soft, crumbly top, scooping down for sugary cooked apples. The warmth and cinnamon did make him pretty happy. It was annoying. For someone who claimed to be low on the power scale, he clearly still had the ability to mess with Dean. And like before, no matter how much he wanted to consume himself with hate towards God a.k.a Chuck, he couldn't muster the emotion to full capacity.

Halfway through eating his dessert, Chuck said something that had him choking. "Did you know that I have biological children?"

"What?!" Dean spat, crumbs flying out as he coughed.

"A very, _very_ long time ago." Chuck turned to look out the window in contemplation, before a smile brightened his sullen face. "In fact, uh, you've met my grandson," he said with subtle pride.

"Come again?" Dean's eyebrows pulled tight together in the outward expression of WTF.

Chuck met his shocked stare, the pride and glowing smile still evident. "Vishous," he answered softly.

"Seriously?!" Dean spouted in total disbelief. There was no way. Couldn't be!

"It's a long story."

Well, Christ, it'd have to be, Dean thought. One had to wonder how the fuck God of mankind even ended up with a vampire for a grandson?

It seemed everyone's families were fucked up. God just happened to be the original daddy to a really bizarre group of kids. This whole world was stupid, Dean realized. There was no divinity or altruism, just some dicks with more mojo than the rest of us losers.

"Ya know, I think I've had enough of the ridiculous knowledge for one night. Can I please wake up now?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin and discarding it crumpled on the table.

"Of course. Can I leave you with one thing before you go?" asked Chuck, suddenly growing nervous, looking more Chuck-like than ever before. Dean nodded with a good deal of reluctance.

"Life is _always_ a story, Dean. Make it a good one. I really need you to make it a good one." When he faded away, he was smiling, or trying to anyway.

Was Dean imagining it, or did Chuck kind of look for a moment as if he'd made a bet on a losing horse?

Shit _._

I'm so the fucking horse in this scenario, Dean thought as the image of the diner fell apart, washing out to nothing but white.

…

The hum of warm air flowed over his back and shoulder from the radiator by the window. The warmth and gentle touch on his back stirred Dean awake. Coming around slowly, he felt safe and warm; the feeling a pleasant buzz from head to toe.

That is, until the night's events came rushing back like the absolute worst joke ever. Oh man, he'd been sooooo totally off his rocker! And clingy! And really desperate! Downright coo-coo crazy. Acting, of course, on the terror from seeing Cas nearly die in front of him. Knowing, somehow, that it was all his fault.

That weird dream with God, whether real or not, unquestionably fortified his theory that the weight was on him. And besides, if past events were any indication of where this shit-storm was going? _Yeah_ , Dean was the losing party with it all piled up on his measly shoulders. No amount of working out was going to give him the ability to support this load of crap.

Pushing away his worries, Dean felt Cas against him, his face turned into a warm chest, the angel's deft fingers tracing patterns from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Surely, Cas knew he was awake, but neither spoke or interrupted the regretful morning after. If Cas was good to ignore the previous nights' insanity, Dean was totally fine with that. It was much better anyway to focus on Cas' touch.

With building, dreadful awareness Dean noticed the pattern of Cas' fingers; the specific curves he took, over and over again. Almost as if…the angel were…following…an established…route.

Oh, shit.

It was a path Cas was no doubt very familiar with. You know, considering it was the guy's fucking name in Enochian and all. Crap, crap, crap. Dean choked up as he waited for Cas to say something. Get angry maybe? Run away screaming was always an option.

Reaching the end of the last line, Castiel redirecting his fingers upwards and into Dean's messy hair, scratching up over his head soothingly.

"Why?" the angel asked smoothly, breaking the silence with the deep sound of his voice.

Dean's heartbeat accelerated, pounding heavy and uncomfortable. Feeling or hearing his physical response, Cas ran his blunt nails harder across Dean's scalp drawing a relieved moan from him.

Always so good with the distractions, Dean thought.

Feeling almost coy, he tried to bury himself deeper into Cas' body, his face all but moving in under Cas' chin, his arms tucked up uncomfortably between them. "I don't think it's something I can explain to you so you'll understand," he said tightly, burdened with uncertainty.

"I'd appreciate it if you tried. I'm not mad or anything. I…I love it. I love _you_. I just want to understand why…"

The heater clicked off as the room reached a predetermined temperature and it had the effect of making everything so damn quiet, conversely emphasizing the sound of his damn heart and the soft sound of their breathing.

Taking a much needed breath, he held the oxygen in and then expelled his words with a hasty confession. "It's for me. Like a promise, or a vow… You're always there for me…even when I didn't know it. And I never want to let you down. I want to do right by you. You're… Cas, you're something more than I ever thought you would be, and I'm smart enough to know how goddamn lucky I am to have you. You're this awesome, compassionate, fierce, ancient, beautiful man-angel, whatever…. And for some insane reason, you stayed." Dean touched his lips to the warm of Cas' skin. "I'll never get it."

In the quiet that followed his disjointed words, he waited for Cas to tell him he was stupid. Instead, Castiel sank lower on the bed, bringing them face to face, searching Dean's eyes for whatever answers he was looking for. Finding himself easily lost in the blue, the nervousness over the tattoo vanished.

"I'm sorry about last night," said Dean quietly.

Castiel cupped the side of his face, sliding his hand a bit so that his thumb could trace Dean's bottom lip, his eyes following the touch. Dean took a breath between parted lips, feeling a different, saner, need than the night before.

Waiting for a kiss, Dean was letdown when Cas spoke an inch from his mouth. "I worry that you are using me as a crutch Dean. Last night—"

"—Wait," Dean interrupted, closing his eyes. "I'm not. I promise. I can be okay without you." Alright, so perhaps that was a slight lie. "I would just prefer not to. Really, very, excessively prefer not to."

As expected, Cas smiled and let out a breathless chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good."

Dean waited patiently then, giving him an encouraging smile. Cas' blue eyes were shining with a level of affection unparalleled before that moment and Dean couldn't figure out, other than the tat, what had really changed.

But then Castiel was kissing him thoroughly, parting Dean's lips with his own; his warm, slick tongue sliding in alongside Dean's. He moaned into the kiss, relieved that they were okay, letting the easy, building passion of the moment carry him away.

/\/\/\

Dean squirmed closer, jerking in efforts to untangle himself from the fleece blanket to return the embrace.

When Castiel had woken up from his own unconscious state, he had noticed that the blanket had shifted, revealing to his eyes what he hadn't seen the night before: His full name, expertly and carefully written in Enochian stretched in black crisp letters across Dean's upper back.

A lot of things from the last few days slowly clicked into place. Dean's attempts at distracting him from seeing his back—which had been highly successful. The smell. And Dean asking him to _only_ heal his face after his fight with Vishous.

Not knowing the intention behind it, Castiel was instantly concerned. But overriding that concern was sheer awe. That tattoo was beautiful, and to see his name on Dean like a declaration, or a written commitment, was a feeling like nothing he'd ever known before.

Erratic movements drew his attention to the present as Dean shoved more of the blanket away from himself, not seemingly bothered by his lack of clothes. Unhindered by the thick fleece, Dean rolled towards him, wrapping a thick muscular leg over his thigh and pushing into him for an eager kiss. The movement of his lips and tongue began slow, building towards purpose. They rolled around on the bed until both of them were breathless and dishevelled.

"Dean, I think we should stop," Castiel spoke from his position over Dean, whose legs were now wrapped securely around his hips.

"Coming from the horniest angel in the garrison?" Dean teased, reaching to kiss him.

Not to be waylaid by Dean's antics, he pulled away. Regretfully.

"After last night I really don't think we should do anything today. You told me once to be patient. I'm telling you that now."

Didn't Dean know how hard it was for him to say no? Of course he wanted to be with Dean, in whatever way. Especially now after staring at his name on Dean's back for the last three hours, but seeing Dean fall apart last night had really twisted him up and he wasn't ready to risk a repeat.

With an impatient thrust and a childish whine, Dean muttered his discontent. "You suck you know that. But fine…I give up." Smiling, with a lick over his lip, Dean sought a compromise, "At least shower with me?"

Knowing exactly what he was doing, Dean had to go and slide out from under him and exit the bed in all his nakedness. Long lines of muscle and smooth skin; unmarred except for the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, and the much larger one of Castiel's name on his back.

It made for a tempting, undeniable picture. Dean stood to the side, facing Castiel, his back reflected in the mirror over the dresser, the TV blocking nearly everything else below the ink.

Defeated, Castiel got up out of the bed in his pajamas. Dean held him with a simple smile, his rough hands linked together—the epitome of patience—all the while giving Cas a once-over.

Returning the mischievous grin with a shake of his head, Castiel pulled the t-shirt off and lowered his cotton pants to the floor, stepping out of them and towards the man he loved.

"I may have been bat-shit crazy last night, but, uh, did you bust out your wings or did I imagine that?" Dean asked him.

Castiel took the single step to reach Dean and wound his arms around Dean's naked waist, pulling him in. Meeting Dean's curious gaze, he replied, "I was hoping the flash of my true self would sort of, um, shock you back."

"Hmm." Dean tilted his head, placing a soft kiss to Castiel's forehead. "I'm feeling a little crazy now, perhaps you should do that again."

Squeezing the man in his arms, marvelling in the feel of their skin pressed together from thigh to chest, Cas skimmed his nose in passes over Dean's neck. An impossible to avoid grin took him over. "This is going to turn into a thing, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Humans call them kinks? Is this a kink? In healing from what happened, have you developed a sexual preference for my wings?"

Dean abruptly changed expressions to one of offence. "No," he said firmly. "Actually…I've developed a sexual preference for _you_. Just you, Cas. The wings, the glow, all of it, is _you_. And a part of you I don't often get to see." Dean ran his hands up and down Castiel's back in smooth passes.

His beating heart felt like it might explode. And on top of the knowledge of Dean getting that tattoo (and what it could mean), he realized his emotional state had done a complete one-eighty from the night before.

Standing still, he unleashed his true self. His grace rising up to his skin, warming him through in ways that conventional heat couldn't match; feeling Dean's skin against his own differently than he normally would. In a way, he could feel all of Dean; every thought and feeling and memory. With little concentration, he allowed a glimpse, a shadow of his wings to appear. It felt good, freeing and weightless.

A shiver rippled through him when Dean's hand grazed down the centre of his spine, feeling incomparably intimate than before with the true part of himself so much closer to the surface.

"I love you," Dean breathed against his lips, pushing them apart, opening him up and getting inside in the only way currently available.

/\/\/\

The Omega grinned wickedly when the recording finished. "So it is revealed."

"He's the key then? The only possible blockade to our success?"

The Omega drifted across the wooden floor of the rustic, but heavily secured barn, tilting his head beneath the cloak. "It would seem. And this human has such potential. I daresay he'd do better than you."

The lesser cowered. If there was one thing every lesser feared, it was displeasing their master. And forelesser roles had a bad history marked by brevity. At least he'd taken care of H, a potential threat to his status.

R chose his words carefully, "But, Master, he is on the side of the angels."

A lack of a face made it no less obvious the reproaching and demeaning look R was given. "Hardly. This human has spent more of his years in the realms of deceit and torture than he has on earth."

"Master, forgive me, but should he not be destroyed?" R asked, fearful but mindful of the truth.

The cloaked cloud of malevolence drifted towards him. "Such small minds humans have. No greater vision at all. Killing him only secures our resources, it does not successfully win this war. This man has the fortitude and mastery of skills to win this war for us."

The lesser opened his mouth to argue, but found himself frozen by the Omega. All his limbs suddenly rendered immobile. The Omega continued, pacing as he spoke. "If I wanted your opinion I would ask for it. Now, you will do as I command, or I will find another who will. Dean Winchester will make for a perfect leader. The human only needs a bit of tweaking."

/\/\/\

The drive to meet the woman known as the Gatekeeper wasn't a long one. Sam gripped the wheel, directing them further east and south while Jody stared at him.

"I don't know why you agreed to meet her," she said harshly.

"Because…if we tell her what we've learned, maybe she'll give us more info. Look, I don't know what I'm doing! I'm pulling at straws, Jody. After last night, not to mention the increasing number of calls from other hunters about these dead guys…we just can't sit around and wait for Cas to fess up. And shit, now that Dean's taken his side?" Sam huffed, the defeated 'I dunno' was unnecessary, he settled for a shrug in her direction.

"What are we even gonna tell her, Sam?"

"We'll tell her about Butch and what he can do. I mean, that's gotta be something."

Jody made a face, shifting to gape at him with her back partly against the door. "Is that even something we _should_ be telling her? I know you think she has answers, but Sam, we need to be cautious here. There's a lot going on—"

"—Yeah! Exactly, there _is_ a lot going on. I've seen the way this snowballs, Jody. So have you! And when shit really hits the fan, we lose people—like my parents, a brother we never got to know, Bobby!" Sam ranted, getting angrier by the second.

Jody went still, the atmosphere in the car darkening. "…and Jess?" she added quietly.

Sam's breath wavered but he managed to pull himself together before speaking. "Yes…and Jess. And you know what? I really don't want you to be next victim of Sam Winchester's cursed love-life."

The warmth of a hand settled on his shoulder and he gentled his expression before meeting her eyes. All of his pent up anger fell away in the span of time it took for him to focus on her. From her deep brown eyes, to the angle of her jaw and chin, her mouth in a soft line of understanding, the way her short hair wisped around her ears.

Suddenly he was pulling the car in an abrupt curve to the side of the highway. The gravel crunched under the tires and stopped in sharp silence as he braked and put the car in park.

"Sam." Jody reached for him as she formed the sound of his name and he welcomed her touch. He'd already grown so accustomed to the comfort she offered.

"Every woman I've ever loved has died." Trying to ground himself, Sam inhaled the scent of her hair, burying his nose into the curve of her neck.

"I know. And while that's not exactly a comforting thought for me, you can't be making rash decisions because you're worried about something that might never happen." She squeezed him tight. "Get a grip, Winchester," she teased.

Laughing, the relief of her proximity managed to sank into his bones.

"We still need to go," Sam said eventually.

They pulled apart and Jody eyeballed him for a good while as she debated their next course of action. "Okay. I'm with you. But I'll do the talking."

"Oh yeah, what do you want me to do?" he asked, feeling the lift of a smile.

"Well," she leaned forward temptingly. "You're gonna stand there looking big and threatening."

Sam chuckled. "I'm your backup?"

"You betchya." Jody grinned, biting her lip smartly before sinking back into her seat and propping her heavy boots up on the dash. Damn she was hot when she was assertive like that.

Hmm, werewolves? demons? authoritative ex-sheriffs? Sam was beginning to notice a pattern in many of the women he'd gone for. Even Jess had always been good to knock heads with him.

After letting his eyes roam from her sexy smirk down the line of her body, he finally took notice of her boots… _on the dash._

Ingrained scolding from Dean triggered Sam's response, eyes busting wide. "Uh…yeah Dean'll kill you if he knew you put your feet up on the dash."

Jody lowered her head, looking at him on an angle before huffing with a shake of her head and taking her feet off of the beloved car.

/\/\/\

"I'm sorry Dean, I need to go meet them," argued Castiel for the fourth time.

Dean was sitting in the chair by the door, his ankle propped on the opposite knee, searching Castiel for weaknesses. He would not find any.

"So take me with you." Dean stared defiantly.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "As I've said, they have very strict rules. Vishous likes you but—"

Damn. It wasn't like Castiel could tell Dean that he was much too linked to the problem at hand to give the Brotherhood any measure of comfort. Having Dean Winchester in their place of fortitude and solitude? Not happening.

"But what?" Dean ushered for him to continue.

"But the rest don't know you. I'll bring you back to the bunker. Sam and Jody already took the car."

"Yeah, where did they go anyway?" Dean asked. "I just got this cryptic text on my phone about Sam having to ' _look into shit.'_ Whatever the hell that means. And bastard took my damn car!"

Castiel felt mentally tired, the day was wearing down and he needed to make it to the Brotherhood's mansion before nightfall. They'd have to go out tonight and keep things in check. And Dean certainly wasn't going to be a part of that.

Eventually, he decided the time for debate was over. Dean, for whatever reason, was being stubborn. Probably partly due to the night before, and partly because everyone seemed to be leaving to deal with something and not letting him be involved. Clearly his pride was taking a hit.

"Sam will be fine," he assured, walking in two steps towards Dean and grabbing his shoulder.

They were outside the bunker in the same second. Dean wobbling slightly on two feet, staring at the door with evident displeasure.

"Cas, c'mon man! For years we took care of the shit the world threw at us, and now you're benching me? So, last night was a minor setback! But I'm fine! _Really_!"

Dean was leaning towards him, with that pleading, desperate look in his eyes. But it was the fear he saw in those green eyes, in addition to everything else, that stopped Cas from taking him along. No matter what Dean said, things last night had shed a new light on everything, and he needed to distance Dean from all this.

Especially considering what he and V had spoken about. The world was getting bad, and it was no place for a fragile mind.

Without responding to Dean's protests, Castiel wrapped his arms around his lover's neck and stepped close to his body, meeting his eyes seriously. "Please stay here. I won't be long. I'm not trying to bench you indefinitely. You're a great hunter, Dean. But for my own sanity, for tonight, do nothing. Watch a movie…or whatever you want. _Please._ "

As Dean listened to Castiel's firm decision, loose fear grew in his eyes. Expertly, knowing the emotion was damaging to his case, Dean attempted to shield the tell by closing his eyes, and moving in quickly to kiss Cas on the mouth the instant he'd stopped talking.

Even though Cas knew the kiss was for distraction purposes, he still closed his eyes and felt the warmth of it flood his system. He snaked his fingers into Dean's hair, the man's arms squeezing around his mid-section and they hugged and kissed for a few minutes before Cas sensed time passing and started to pull away.

The attempted sway appeared to have backfired. Instead of a passionate kiss leading him to give in and take Dean along, it resulted only in calming them both. The fear he'd seen in Dean's eyes was now replaced with a drowsy, content daze—an expression that gave Castiel all sorts of loopy feelings in his stomach.

"I don't like sitting around. Maybe before, ya know, 'cause that's what I needed. But now? Being cooped up when I know shit's going down really bugs me. But…I guess…for _you_ ," Dean said grudgingly. "I will stay out of it for tonight," he relented. Then he grabbed Castiel's shirt and pulled him close. "But I ain't happy about it! And you're damn well gonna make it up to me later."

Castiel grinned, licking his lips with anticipation. "Anything you wish," he replied.

A heartbeat later, Castiel reoriented himself to upstate New York, in a sprawling stretch of vacant land with tall, green trees. A car was waiting there on a dirt path; black, windows tinted, and shiny like the Impala. The driver's window rolled down, where an older gentleman was seated at the leather-clad wheel.

"Mr. Castiel, Sir? I'm here to take you the rest of the way."

Unaccustomed to appropriate behaviours of this nature, Castiel flew to the front passenger seat, surprising the older man into a state of shock.

"Oh! Heavens! I didn't expect you to sit in the front. If it pleases you, you may feel free to sit in the back."

"Do you want me to sit in the back?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Whatever you wish, sir," the old man responded. If Castiel didn't know better, he would say this man's feathers were ruffled. Though the man did not have wings. He was a subspecies of the vampire race. They were servants who loved taking care of people. It was a peculiar vocation.

"I think I'd like to stay in the front." Castiel smiled politely and gazed through the tinted windows, seeing fog around them that hadn't been there before.

"It is the _mhis_ , sir. Pardon the sensation; I understand it feels strange to angels as well as humans," the older gentleman explained.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Fritz, sir."

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

"And you, Mr. Castiel. I have heard great things about you. The race normally cares not for Heaven and Angels, but stories of your defiance have reached even our ears."

Castiel frowned. "Yes, my defiance. I have done one or two reputable things…but," he sighed, "for the most part I have been a far more negative influence in this world than a positive one."

"If you'll pardon my honesty, I disagree, sir. Not to speak ill of the vampire race, but they are sometimes too segregated to see how the human world may interfere with our own. I daresay the apocalypse would have been detrimental to our world. You have my gratitude, sir, for your part in its derailment."

The honest appreciation hit Castiel in the centre of his chest. It was commonplace to be reminded of wrongs, but very rare to be thanked for the few things he'd mostly gotten right.

A picture of Dean came to his mind, and he knew with certainty that falling in love with Dean, and all the aftermath tied to that, was definitely something he'd gotten right.

Not that it had ever really been a choice.

The car went through a series of stops before coming to a final halt. The car was turned off and Castiel exited, thanking Fritz for his kind words and wishing him a wonderful evening.

Greeting him with a handshake in the main foyer was Vishous, the rest of the Brotherhood ominously standing around, eyeing him as if Lucifer himself were standing in their home. He quickly caught sight of Lassiter over by a wide arch on the left, the angel leaning against the edge of the opening to a billiards room.

"Castiel, it's good to see you again," said Lassiter. Castiel surveyed the other angel's very unangelic appearance.

"You have an interesting vessel," he noted.

"Total badass, right?"

Castiel nodded affably.

"Alright, enough of the wing-play, we got shit to talk about," Wrath, the King, spoke deep and clear, his heavy feet coming down the last few steps of the grand staircase. A dog led him by harness towards Castiel where a large hand was offered up for the taking.

Castiel's own hand looked feminine in comparison, but his strength far surpassed the King and he shook firmly.

"Yes, it seems we do," he agreed.

"Cool, let's take it upstairs." Vishous gestured for them to follow and they piled up the stairs, left down the hall and into a regal, French styled décor of a room on the right side of the hallway.

It would have seemed generously spacious, had it not been for the ten or so gigantic men, and two stately women crowding it. Castiel had never regretted his vessel before, but with everyone towering over him, he found himself frowning. Even more so as V leaned over to smirk, sensing the direction of his thoughts.

Wrath, complete in picture as Castiel imagined with his long black hair and dark glasses to shield his damaged eyes, sat heavily into the ornate chair behind the desk. The dog dutifully by his side.

"I take it you know things have gotten critical?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Vishous says you've got something we need to know."

Castiel turned to scowl hatefully in the direction of said vampire. Had he not emphasized how important it was that this remained secret? What good would it do anyway?

/\/\/\

Walking through the wide halls of the bunker Dean started to feel his skin itch. He'd played some guitar. Watched a TV show. Made a sandwich.

Now, three hours after Cas had left, he was losing his goddamn mind. One thing was for sure, he wasn't staying parked here. After months of near catatonic living in the bunker, he was starting to kinda hate the damn place. Like it was some massive construct to represent his decrepit crawling back to reality.

Nuhn-uhn. All he needed to do was switch out those spark plugs in the T-bird car that he'd been working on and he was good to go.

Forty minutes later, Dean was heading out into the late evening. There was no need for a destination; it wasn't the point of the drive. The drive alone was the point, and it had been a while since he'd revelled in the joy of a well-maintained car. He rode her smooth on open roads, letting the stretch of nothing flow through his vacant mind.

/\/\/\

"You're too late," the enthralling woman said to Jody, angrily pacing in the public square—vacant this late at night.

Jody followed the woman's path with her eyes. "How so?"

"They're _everywhere_! The Omega is no longer concentrated evil but dispersed into soulless bodies filled with misdirected hate and purpose. You haven't even taken it upon yourselves to reduce the number of those vile creatures. Creatures made from souls stolen through the doors I swore to protect!" Her voice rose, the ethereal maroon gown she wore billowed around her.

"How about you tell us how to reopen Heaven then?" Jody pressed, feeling Sam tense at her back.

The woman laughed in a bitter cackle. "Please, your skills are incompetent. The way of reopening Heaven is as equally difficult as destroying the Omega…and you couldn't even manage that!"

"Funny, from what we've learned, there is only one way to kill the Omega. It's discussed in a prophecy. A prophecy I'm sure you have heard of."

"Prophecies are tales for children, young woman."

Maybe her former job was filtering her view of this woman, but the Gatekeeper seemed a little bratty? Like another kid was taking her toys. She certainly didn't come across as the bombshell of a woman she seemed before. Now it was like the woman was grasping at straws to be rid of her nuisance, wanting immediate results. Whining almost...

"But they are sometimes true. Lore is based in truth. What if I told you we have evidence that the prophecy is true?" Jody asked, trying to steer the conversation in a fruitful direction.

That got the blonde's attention, the woman spun around and pegged Jody with a fierce stare. "Speak now!"

"First you. How do we reopen Heaven? There are only two ways to get you back to your post and that's either killing this Omega guy, or opening Heaven back up. I'd say your best option is tackling both fronts. Whaddya say?"

Pacing again, the woman appeared to deliberate. Jody grew impatient, feeling Sam just desperate to jump in to the conversation but he was too hot-headed right now, too worried about seeing Dean go ape-shit on a lesser. That giant boyfriend of hers needed to cool his heels. She tried to force her warnings behind her, urge Sam to keep his mouth shut.

Men, she sighed.

Abruptly, the woman laughed. "I'll give you a riddle, female. It's something I enjoy. Gateways are often adorned with riddles for entry—that was my doing, you know. My way of passing time. So here it is, make of it what you will: To undo what has been done, there is but one path, it bears footsteps two-by-two. By the words of God, as so often are beginnings marked. The angel who hath fallen, does not fall for naught. The symbol of our dawn bears an unbroken shape. And in His eyes, where light strikes anew, the gates may open." On the tail of her words was more, rancorous laughter.

Jody and Sam looked at each other, not sure what to think. But the woman was on them before they had time to ponder further. "I believe it is your turn," she sneered. Jody felt the heat of the woman's power press like a weight on them.

"We've heard the man exists. Sources have placed him within the vampire race," Jody provided, careful not to give too much. The truths were not hers to share.

"Is that all?!" she asked incredulously. "You've _heard_ the man exists! He is no vampire, I assure you. If the prophecy is true, he cannot be. Your sources have lied. You know nothing, and for that you get nothing more from me."

A gush of air trailed her heated departure.

"Gee, someone's gettin' snippy, ya think?" Jody remarked to Sam who nodded, the wheels turning in his head.

Sam grabbed her by the elbow and began leading them out of the courtyard in the centre of town. "Ok, did you hear everything she said?" he asked.

"Yeah I think so, it sounds like it was taken from somewhere, doesn't it? I don't think she made that up on the spot."

"No, me either. But I damn well bet Crowley knows."

"You know…the riddle sort of makes me think of…" she trailed off, wiggling her left hand, making a face up at Sam who was leaning down towards her as they walked. He stopped short and quirked his head.

"Jody," he blurted in disbelief.

"What?! C'mon, I know it's crossed your mind. Cas said God was Chuck, right?"

She saw him consider the possibility, that the God who transformed himself into a writer could possibly have written the fix to Heaven upon destroying Metatron.

"It would make sense!" she encouraged the thought.

"Why write up some cheesy fix, though? Why not just _actually_ fix Heaven?" he asked, making a good point. Finally his expression of temporary interest deflated, overcome with doubt. "It's ridiculous. It can't be. It has to be something else."

She wondered if his refusal to consider the possibility was grounded by his fear that it was so implausible. She had to admit that while she hoped, she simply couldn't see it happening.

/\/\/\

Ah, yes… So easy to find, the Omega thought. His presence hovered invisible above the earth, following the dark shape streak across a deserted black road. Soon to be much more deserted than before.

Even from this distance, he could feel the darkness in the man below. Much less a man than others believed. Marked perhaps by an angel, but defined by his torturous past. A past that the Omega planned to capitalize on. A beautiful leader; full of rage and power. One half of the key to reopen Heaven turned into the Omega's own fierce General. A Commander.

Excited to begin his epic war, the Omega surged fast towards the speeding car and plucked the human out of it, leaving the box of metal flying solo, swerving violently until it collided with a highway sign.

Back at the temporary headquarters—a farm building designed solely to keep out vampires and prying eyes—he threw the unconscious human down on the metal table and strapped him down with a thought, the binds moving of their own force.

The current forelesser watched with notable apprehension, his unease filling the air with the scent of rust. Once this human was molded to his purpose, the forelesser would no longer be of use. Until then, the Omega would need to curtail his desire to rip the undead to shreds.

"Don't you see, R? Look at the darkness here. Ready to be molded at will. Ready to _lead_."

"Yes, Master."

"A human who breaks twice, shall unquestionably break thrice." The Omega smiled and got to work.

 


	31. Riptide

Sam tossed his phone into the backseat, cursing into the empty car.

Critical levels of _bad_ had hit a high point. The news was plastered with obscure reports of attacks, and fighting in the streets of major cities—no real details being given to the nervous public. Even as bad as it was, most people had still been content to try and ignore it, thinking that it was just some outburst of criminal activity and that the cops could handle it.

But that mindset had changed pretty damn fast.

What really sent things from _ah shit_ to _send in the military_ was the murdering of six police officers who'd ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. The deaths were piling up, and now, people were really noticing.

Sam gritted his teeth through the helpless feeling that had claimed him.

They'd known it would happen eventually: The fight spilling over into the human world. The ensuing chaos was still a difficult pill to swallow.

In the beginning, law enforcement claimed the rampant fighting was gang-related, pointing to a few known crime syndicates and mafias. Yeah, _sorry_ , Sam thought, no Joe Pesci type goons were the center of this mess. No, with reports about sightings of people displaying super-human strength, shit was hitting the high-turbo fan with alarming velocity.

People weren't just panicked they were downright scared. _Never_ a good sign of things to come.

They were rolling towards a giant collision between good and evil all over again. It shouldn't surprise him, and for the most part it didn't. But that aside, he'd hoped that after Hell getting shut down, they wouldn't have had to deal with more bullshit. At least not until after Dean was one-hundred-percent again. God knows they needed the down time.

Thinking back on what the Gatekeeper had said, he wondered if the idea that Jody had entertained could be true.

 _Marriage_? The thought alone had Sam screwing up his features. But what else could it be? Footsteps two-by-two? An unbroken shape? Talk of beginnings… And then the fact that the entire Heavenly gates problem was all tied in with Dean and Cas—and _only_ Dean and Cas.

What worried him is that his brother, both now and how he was before, was not the best at relationships. The guy sucked balls at expressing himself emotionally—Sam knew that to a painful degree. Damn, how many times had he wanted his big brother to say 'I love you Sammy, it's okay', and then hug him? Countless, probably.

He'd never asked Dean for that, but then, he never should've had to. Was it pathetic of him to want that? Maybe. But Dean was not just his older brother, he was Sam's whole family; a father, mother, caretaker in every way that mattered. And still, hugs were saved for near-death moments, and back-from-the-dead rarities.

Never just because.

So, sure, the guy might be with Cas and in love, but getting hitched? Sam wasn't even sure Dean believed in it. Hell, look at their parents! From what Sam had seen, the bullshit their dad spouted about he and mom being perfect was a total crock. And no one more than Dean knew that sad reality.

The passenger door creaked open, tearing him from his thoughts. Jody sat down into the seat. She passed him a large coffee, her eyes narrowing with concern.

"We'll figure everything out," she assured. Or attempted to. At this point, they were just words. He loved her for saying them, but that was all it was. A gesture of love to make him feel better. Even she didn't believe it.

_How could she?_

If the fate of the world rested on his brother striving for his own personal happiness, they were fucked.

With dim stupidity, he wondered if dragging Dean to a psychologist would up the chances of saving the world. His stint as Dean's own personal Dr. Phil had only gone so far. Besides, he'd been no more than a sounding board with a few meager suggestions here and there. How could he possibly convince Dean to strive for something that he may not care about without telling him the gross implications of letting it fall to wayside?

Sam turned to Jody, his thoughts on marriage. Would she say yes to him? If he were bold enough to ask? Would she even want that?

After all, she'd been married before…and look how that had ended. Immediately, he dropped the thought, certain it would cause more pain for her than happiness.

/\/\/\

Castiel opened his mouth to argue, a list of reasons not to speak the truth on the tip of his tongue—

Vishous dropped like a stone.

Clamping his mouth shut, Cas watched as the males knees gave out—the big mass of him a dead-weight sinking fast, the progression slow in Castiel's mind.

Amazingly, the male didn't hit the ground. The vampire frequently referred to as the "cop" was quickly there to haul V's heft up onto the couch, with hushed comforting words.

"Hey, buddy. Whoa there, nice and easy," Butch murmured. Vishous' weight sagged into the couch, his limbs limp, his head hung low making it impossible to see his expression—or whether he was even conscious.

The room was silent, saturated with worry as they all stared at the male, waiting for him to lift his head and explain. A vision had plagued him, Castiel was certain, but of what?

"You okay? What'd'ya see?" Butch asked, looking fleetingly at the others in the room.

Stirring into consciousness, Vishous rubbed a trembling hand hard against his eyes, groaning.

Wrath stood, crossing the room in four big steps. On Castiel's right, the King stood like a tower. If there had been sun in the room, he would have been shadowed by the mass and height of the male.

The essence of _wrong_ hung in the air around them, just waiting to be voiced by the vampire. Muscles tight, Castiel waited for the bomb to drop.

When V's head straightened, the sight of his expression stunned each of them. Never could he have fathomed Vishous could display such fear. His bright eyes flared wide, his mouth parted as though he were struggling to breathe, the tips of his fangs visible.

"What did you see?" Wrath demanded.

Vishous brushed the hair from his eyes, glanced towards the cop, and then searched out Castiel. It was there his focus remained. And it was full of pity.

An icy swell filled the center of Castiel's chest as he waited for V to speak.

"An army…they have a goddamned army," V uttered. With shaky hands, he dug his ungloved hand into his pocket and pulled out a thin metal case. From there he took out a rolled smoke. It took him two tries to light it. The spicy aroma of whatever V was smoking filled the room along with the weighted silence.

 _An army?_ The word no doubt resounded loud in each of their minds.

"Why did you look at me?" Castiel demanded, his voice stronger than he felt.

Vishous gravely met his eyes. "Dean was leading it. Standing at the center of a snowstorm, rows of lessers behind him."

A few in the room exhaled harsh curses. Castiel couldn't move.

"It's impossible." It had to be. He'd left Dean at the bunker. Though now, stretching out his senses, Castiel realized that he could feel no trace of the man he loved. No, no, no…this can't be happening, he thought as he felt his heart sink with dread.

"Is it? If the Omega's got to him, how easy do you think it would be turn Dean?"

"Don't say that." He never should have left Dean. Why had he been so stupid?!

"Can you even feel him now?" V asked.

Castiel's lack of response gave Vishous the answer he needed. In a deadly mixture of fear and anger, he stared hard into V's eyes. "They won't turn him. I promise you." Cas refused to believe Dean would fall so easily, not after how much he'd endured in the past. The man might be damaged—sure, struggling to survive his fragile mentality—definitely. But the Dean Winchester he knew would hold strong against evil for however long it took Castiel to get to him.

Dean _had_ to know that Castiel would find him. He always did.

"The image, part of it, is what I saw before, Castiel. The blizzard; him in the middle of it—it fits. I just wasn't seeing the whole picture."

'Fuck you', was on the tip of his tongue. "You're wrong," he sneered instead.

The onslaught of fury forced him to pace in the small room, needing to walk off the rush of heat rising in him. He could feel his wings twitching in the alternate field of reality. The power in them reacting to his rage and sheer worry, wanting to break out and fly him off towards some kind of action.

Wrath closed the distance towards Vishous, the dog following at his heels. "Are they coming after us?"

"No, we're safe here as far as I know. It seems they're waiting for us to go to them."

Many spoke at once, but none louder than Zsadist. "This is it," he declared clear as bell over the others. In the following quiet, he added, "We all knew it would come to this."

"Only on our terms, Z!" Wrath barked. "If they truly have an army, than this is a death sentence. Or are you so cavalier still?! What about Bella? And your daughter? Have you not a fucking thought for them?"

Zsadist moved quick as lightning, getting up in the King's face. "It's _for_ them that I am willing to serve up my life to kill every last fucker I see."

"No." Wrath loomed over him. "I won't put the Brotherhood at risk. Not like this."

Vishous cleared his throat, voicing the calamitous reality, "We have no choice, my Lord."

"And what the fuck does that mean, V? You and this angel need to tell me every fucking thing you know because I am _this_ close to throwing down with both of you." Here, he turned to Cas, "And don't think your angel powers would do fuck all against me." It was an empty threat of course, but Castiel let the King vent his own frustrations.

"The man in my vision, Dean Winchester, he's our last hope to stop the surge of Lessers overtaking the world. He's the only thing that can give us any hope of cutting off the tap that the Omega is pooling Lessers from."

"We have to save him," Castiel added with his own sense of urgency.

"And what does this one goddamn human have to do with anything?!" Wrath demanded, his eyes bright even through the black sunglasses.

"Cas," Vishous turned to him, "I think you should say your piece now. It's time."

"Can we just cut to the motherfucking point?" the King's voice slashed into the room.

"Wrath, trust me, you need to hear it all," Vishous calmly indicated, taking a long pull from the smoke he held between his fingers.

Everyone in the room turned to Castiel. But no one's stare was as severe as the King's, boring into him.

"Speak, Angel. And hope your words are effective."

The pressure to convince the Brotherhood to fight was immense. How much should he divulge? What level of detail would be considered appropriate? How far back in the story must he go? These questions stuck inside his head, but he decided ultimately that no part of the story could be left out. Not if they were to truly understand how all this had come about, and why their world was now contingent on a loose decision Dean may or may not ever make.

"I'll start at the beginning, but I'll be quick about it." Taking a deep breath, he began: "September eighteenth, two-thousand-eight, I was given the order from above to pull Dean Winchester out of Hell…"

/\/\/\

Every once in a while, waking up is a nice slow process, drifting lightly into consciousness with the bitter smell of coffee on the air.

And other times, you get punched in the gut and nearly piss yourself.

Regrettably for Dean, the latter defined his resurfacing with the Omega in the barn. They had to be somewhere insanely far north, because he was sure he could smell snow. The cold wind howled like an angry mob against the slats of wood that barely shielded them from the harsh season outside. A constant racket of noise droned on as the wood slammed together, the screws and nails having come loose over the years.

"Wonderful to see you conscious again," a warped voice greeted him.

Here we go again, he thought, beginning to twist on the steel table. He'd been beaten, though not severely, only enough to have him bobbing in and out lucidity with every part of him aching in acute, precise throbs.

But he was conscious and, evidently alive, so…yippee.

When they'd first arrived, he'd been awake, remembering the feel of evil crawling over his skin, like a thousand tiny insects. There was something they wanted to do to him, to make him theirs somehow. Some great purpose for him to fulfill.

Feeling the heat rise within him, Dean thought two words: FUCK _THAT._

Clearing his throat of blood and then spitting the glob towards the lesser, Dean turned up to the malicious evil towering over him. "Listen smoky bear, you're late to the party. I've been worked over so many times, you don't even know," he grated. "So break out the knives and let's have a good time. But in the end, know this, you ain't gettin' dick from me."

"Oh, you ill-fated human, _dick"—_ the Omega's focus, even through the indiscernible smoke went to Dean's crotch—"is the last thing I want from you. Despite your physical perfection. Another time, maybe, another place, I would lock you down in _Dhund_ and toy with you until you were begging at my feet for more. But," his voice went up an octave. "I have other plans for you. Just need to add a bit more to that pool of black you already have in you. Give you an extra little _something_. A gift. From me to you, human."

"Fuck you," he spat.

"Such aggression, Mr. Winchester. What do you think of that, R?"

The white-haired Lesser stalked close to the table, a single-blade razor in his hand, "I think he'll make a vicious killer, and formidable leader, Master."

"I wholly agree. Don't you, Dean?"

They were goading him so he kept silent. Even managing to remain still when the Omega's smoky excuse for a hand pressed against his lower belly, while the other yanked his hair painfully, wrenching his head back.

"You'll open that mouth whether you want to or not," the Omega whispered, his breath hot like ash, thick and stifling.

No matter how hard Dean battled against it, a force stronger than himself forced his mouth wide, the Omega leaned down over him. That was the moment dread sunk deep in his gut.

It was then that he cursed Heaven's intervention with his family and his life. Because of their meddling for their stupid fucking destinies and prophecies, it was always him or Sam that got stuck with the blunt end of the stick. Every godforsaken POS monster from here to Neverland always had _plans_ for them, and Dean was getting goddamned sick of it. Abaddon had been the last fucking straw. Dean was done with it. Done with being used. Done with being fucked around and tortured and fucking twisted for some deranged purpose. He was just so fucking done.

But the Omega didn't care for the overwhelming mountain of shit that he'd already been through. What monster would? Like they'd ever have pity for him. What a joke.

In the split-second before it all went to shit, Dean wanted to pray to Cas—either to ask for help or say goodbye. He wasn't sure which. But, ultimately, he would never put Cas' life in danger and he sure as hell didn't want Cas to suffer through whatever was about to happen. It had been his goal to never hurt Cas again. And if nothing else, he was keeping that one damn promise.

With Dean's mouth cranked wide, the evil came for him. It always did, it seemed.

When the first swell of black, not quite smoke or ash, gusted between his lips, he thought: Here it is, I'm being possessed again. _Awesome._

Except, he was wrong. _It wasn't the same._ This was _not_ possession...not by a long shot. This was a toxic form of evil, a _virus_ , not a presence apart from himself. But something that sought to fuse with him, creating a new version of himself. Which made it that much harder to fight.

The hot ashy breath, black and thick, choked its way down his throat, fighting an upsurge of vomit from his stomach, both substances burning him. As a result of the evil push down, oxygen wasn't exactly available, and as the ache in his lungs lit off, Dean attempted to thrash, choking without a single noise. The Omega's icy palm pressed him down harder to keep him still, and the touch of evil this strong against his skin, as it buried into his body kicked off a surge of nausea and for the second time, his stomach tried to catapult itself out of his body, but the trails of the smoke still funneling down his throat stopped it and the queasiness grew, and the lack of air made his head scream in pain.

Hot tears clouded his eyes, a reaction from the pain. From the pit of his stomach, to the back of his throat and nose, he was on fire. The lack of air, and the feeling of helplessness suffocated him.

A continuous ' _no'_ and several swear words resounded in his head, but it didn't matter. The Omega's essence poured into his brain and singed off the continuation of free thought. Every silent protest quieted.

The black virus snaked out to the tip of each limb, arriving hot as fire, where it cooled as it settled within him, leaving him dulled and submissive.

But somewhere in all that dark, he was there. Fighting.

/\/\/\

"What the hell are you talking about?" yelled Sam, his eyes finding Jody's, relaying the shock of what he was hearing from Cas.

"There isn't much time. We're moving fast. I'll be there to get you both soon." With that, Castiel hung up.

"What's going on?" Jody asked, her hand reaching over to grasp his forearm.

Sam was still floundering for purchase on reality. It didn't make sense. He'd just seen Dean a few hours ago. There was no way he could've been taken by the Omega. Even knowing Cas would never lie, Sam struggled to accept it. No, dammit. Dean didn't deserve this! Overcome with rage, Sam slammed his fist against the dash. Half the buttons broke and the tape that had been in the tape deck popped out. Dean was gone?

Would the pile of shit they found themselves in ever end?

"Sam!?" Jody yanked his arm to force his attention to her. Shit, he'd forgotten she was even in the car. All his thoughts focused on Dean.

"There's an army of lessers…apparently being led by-by Dean…setting out to…start a war. Fuck." Reaching up, Sam scrubbed his forehead, willing the sudden pain to dissipate.

"What?! I thought Dean was with Cas?!" screeched Jody, eyes flared wide.

"The Omega has him now…"

"I don't understand. Sam, how did this happen?

Before he could adequately respond, Crowley knocked on the driver's window. "Hello lovers."

Sam exited the car with unbelievable speed, his knife out, charging for Crowley. It was impressive, after the fact, that Crowley was able to dodge Sam's sudden attack so well.

"Hold on Moose!" Crowley groused, raising both hands. "You don't want to be killing humans. So many other kills waiting for you, mate, I promise."

Sam seethed. "What do you know!?" he demanded harshly. Sam had it up to _here_ with fucking everything. No more. He was so done with it all. He was going after Dean and everything that threatened his brother's happiness.

Crowley dawdled, pacing.

"So help me God, I will kill you," he threatened, angling towards the once-and-past-King.

"Relax, relax, I'm just building up the suspense."

"For what?!" Sam barked.

"To see the look on your face when I tell you the truth…" Crowley smiled, leaning forward, brows raised high. "The truth, Sam, is that to save the whole of the world, to stop certain all-out war… Your brother; the sad, self-deprecating, emotionally-stunted brute needs to enter into marital bliss with our beloved, albeit socially awkward, Angel of Thursday."

Sam gaped, at a complete loss for words. In the stunned silence, Crowley muttered, "And if our feathered friend wears that sickly beige trench, I might have to murder myself. Poor daft really needs a good lesson on fashion."

Sam dithered, running a hand through his hair. "Married?" he stammered out.

There it was: CONFIRMED. And somehow, Sam still didn't want to believe it. Not so much because it was worrisome, but because it was so ridiculous.

"Indeed."

Surprising both Crowley and Jody, Sam cracked up. Silent, but forceful fits of laughter took him over. His abs burned with each wracking fit of it. The two stared at him like he'd gone totally nuts. After the sudden attack withered down to tolerable pants for air, he spoke.

"You can't be serious."

"Sam, after today, you know it's true." Jody held his arm, squeezing it compassionately.

He snorted. " _Please_. You're saying, _seriously_ , that the world will be saved by my brother marrying Cas? For real?"

"For realsies, Moose." Crowley made a popping noise with his mouth. "It appears a certain God is a fan of Nicholas Sparks. Big man's got good taste."

Sam squinted. "Who?"

"Oh, like _you've_ never watched 'The Notebook'! _That_ I find hard to believe."

Scowling, Sam had a-fucking-nough of Crowley's BS. "Where's Dean now?" he growled, moving to enter Crowley's space, knife out again.

Assuming a grim expression, Crowley sighed. "That, I do not know."

"But we do," answered Castiel, appearing three feet to their right with a guy about Sam's size beside him. A man, Sam was sure, must be Vishous—the goatee, the fangs—it was the only thing that made sense.

The former King of Hell hummed his intrigue. "Ah yes, the Brotherhood: Enemy of the more largely unknown Lessening Society—currently poised to take over the world. And how are we feeling this lovely evening?" Crowley looked pleasantly at Vishous.

The man with the growing fangs leered back. "Murderous, and yourself?"

"Both of you stop it." Castiel interjected curtly. "Sam, Jody, _Crowley_ ; its all hands on deck. You're coming with us."

In a startling jolt, they were reoriented to the front lawn of a giant mansion. Sam gazed up, momentarily swayed from the overriding thought of Dean and evil by the stark stone construction. The edifice was massive, reaching maybe four storeys high, if not more. The stone courtyard out front was the kind seen in movies. A bank of garage doors was off to the far right, and a smaller building over on the left.

It wasn't just the mansion that gave him pause, but the feeling that surrounded it. A nauseating presence seemed to pressure him with the urge to leave. Reaching back to offer his hand, Jody took it, both of them moving towards the unknown together.

With his beige trench donned like a military uniform, Castiel marched past, his focus intense. When he reached the thick door, he yanked it open. "Inside, now!"

Sam, Jody and Crowley followed him through the heavily secured threshold. The other vampire must have already been inside as he was nowhere to be seen.

In the foyer, everyone was apprised of the situation, and afterwards stood stoically waiting for an order. Even Crowley managed to keep the level of snark to a minimum. Members of the Brotherhood, who Sam met through rapid-fire introductions, were coming and going around them in a flurry.

The King, Sam recalled had been the largest of them all, with long black hair—at least triple in length compared to Sam's. His expression was partly hidden behind thick black sunglasses, that and the dog by his side giving his disability away. Except the way he strode about the foyer indicated he was not lacking faculties.

Most of the Brothers, Sam learned, were pretty chill. They didn't pay him much attention, and gave Crowley endless sneers, curled lips, and elongated fangs. Each one of them dipped their heads cordially to Jody, all of which she took with a bit of complacency that Sam found amusing.

One Brother, Zsadist, had uttered not a single word to Sam or Crowley, but placed a gentle hand—shocking considering his countenance—on Cas' shoulder, leaned towards the angel and whispered something that seemed to have Cas curling in on himself, his head nodding with understanding. The exchange had Sam's brows drawing together, wondering what the scarred vampire might've said.

Most interactions were with Vishous, or V as he was commonly called. Man, all these vamps had some pretty scary ass names. He only saw a few women passing by here and there. But a couple looked like they should be the ones ruling the world if he had any say.

Sure, for a while now, he'd been critical of Cas' association with this unknown sect of monster, but being here, talking with Vishous did alter his view of things pretty significantly. They were gearing up to fight evil and save his brother, and for Sam, that was enough.

Over and over, Sam kept hearing the words: battle, war, fighting, weapons… And then, _naturally_ , his brother's name.

 _Of course_ , he thought sarcastically. Who else would it be?

"What's happening?" Sam asked Castiel, catching him as the angel rushed past with V by his side.

"We need help, Sam," Castiel answered without further explanation.

"Then let me make some calls," offered Sam. Hunters have banded in the past to fight major threats together. There's no reason they wouldn't this time.

It was Vishous who gave the okay. "Use my cell and tell them to text that number all their locations, and we'll figure out how to get them all where we need 'em."

"Will do," Sam agreed, taking the device.

/\/\/\

By midnight, Castiel was impressed by all they'd achieved. But it wouldn't necessarily be enough. He had no way of knowing what they would be facing the following evening. He couldn't locate Dean, couldn't feel his presence at all in the world, and that made it hard to focus.

Despite what his senses told him, he'd taken the ten minutes on his own to fly back to the bunker and look around. There was no Dean to be found. A car was conspicuously gone from the garage and realizing what must have happened, he expanded his view of the area, flying over unseen in the blink of an eye. Seconds later, he'd found himself standing to the side of a twisted wreckage of metal. The door was still sealed shut, and mangled in such a way that it would likely remain that way. The oddest thing was the seatbelt, still plugged in, as though Dean had vanished from the drivers seat without a trace.

Finding no other clues of Dean, not even the scent of him lingered here, Castiel had returned to the mansion, dejected. The fear of the days to come plagued his every move, leadening each limb to the ground, or so it felt.

They had only one more day to pool soldiers to their fight. The saving grace in recruitment was that it wasn't just _their_ fight against the lessers, or Castiel's wish to get back the human he'd fallen in love with, but a collision of two massive forces that was now spilling over.

This fight was on all of them.

And it would all go down in about twenty-four hours. However it would end, there was no avoiding it's beginning. Vishous wasn't certain on timing down to the minute, so they were to arrive just after sundown and hope for the best.

How long had it been since he'd fought on such a large scale? Not even at the height of Lucifer's reign on earth had it strayed into the realm of outright warfare in massive quantities. They were on the eve of battle and somehow, he'd always imagined Dean would be by his side.

_Or at least on it._

Every hurdle they'd been through thus far, he never expected another like the one they were faced with now. The fight with Abaddon, the trip through Hell—it seemed so long ago, despite the handful of months that it really was.

If he'd never come here, perhaps he could have protected Dean. In mentioning this offhand to V, the vampire harshly reminded him that the Omega was stronger than any angel, even an archangel. And that Castiel, a simple seraph, would've been useless. The truth hurt his pride, but it was the truth nevertheless.

V's mother was probably the only living thing that had any hope of stopping this. But while her will might be there, her powers were not enough to stop the momentous force that had erupted as a result of Heaven being sealed off and souls stuck in the in-between—where they had become vulnerable. The next best thing they could look to was Butch, AKA the "cop" _._

It made V anxious when Castiel raised the topic over the course of the day and night.

Sam came to him close to dawn, delivering addresses of hunters lined up to fight. And with Castiel and Lassiter's insistence, angels desperate to see Heaven functional once more signed on to help as well. It was a blessing that the negotiations were quick; they had no time to plead their case exhaustively.

It was difficult over the short hours to amass everyone together. While the vampires could dematerialize at will—moving from one place to another in an instant—they weren't able to carry bodies along with them, so it was left to the only angels left with wings. Sadly, this was on Cas and Lassiter. Thankfully, Lassiter had been on earth during the fall, and therefore, his wings had remained intact.

As such, much of his time was spent flying around the world as a human taxi. But he did just that, as often as necessary, because more fighters gave them a better chance.

With the threat of such a fight leering over them, it was a wonder he had the capacity to worry about other things. Still, too many had become privy to the undoing of Metatron's spell. And if Dean found out? Any hope would surely be lost. When God told Castiel the truth…he'd immediately become resigned to the knowledge that Heaven would forever remain closed.

...

 _Heaven,_ _several months ago_ _…_

Standing in that expanse of white, with his Father looking upon him, Castiel had not expected for the man to be so… _sentimental_.

The first confession to leave God's mouth, "Because it had to be you…" had mangled Castiel's sense of everything that happened since he'd pulled Dean from Hell many years earlier. The words pierced him then, and still did. Knowing just how much Dean hated the concept of destiny and the illusion of free will, he decided never to tell Dean that it had been preordained that Castiel would be his saviour. Of course, even if they'd known back then, neither would have guessed why.

In God's faltering faith in his creations, both Angels and Humans, he'd forged a plan to bring them together. At first attempted by leaving Heaven, forcing angels to find purpose for themselves, for them to seek out free will as humans did. This ended in utter disaster, so Castiel had brazenly informed him.

A writer at heart, God, through the guise of Chuck, reconfigured the ending that he sought.

He would take the evil, the sadness, the corruption and twist it in order to construct a story of something greater than faith in the unknown, but love. An emotion that God himself longed to feel.

"Both of you are so defined by your desire for good that it astounds me how much room you leave to keep those you love safe, no matter what the costs. You have become what I've wanted for all angels—having a mind of their own—seeing the good in humans."

"I destroyed thousands," Castiel reminded him cynically.

"Yes, you did sort of stray off course there, didn't you?" Chuck laughed, and added, "Nevertheless, your journey began with the desire to do good, and it was always your underlying driver. We all make mistakes. Even I."

"Finally, something we can agree on." Castiel uttered mundanely, pacing.

"I cannot reverse the spell on my own, Castiel, I'm not powerful enough. A balance to the spell must be had. And at least, I can define what that is, should Dean choose to return."

"And what might that be?"

"The spell was designed to defile the idea of love between angels and humans: The murdering of a nephilim, taking from an angel of love their means of forming unions of love, and finally…the grace of an angel who just so happened to fall in love with the most stubborn man I've ever met. Good luck with that by the way."

Castiel mumbled thanks and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"In order to reverse this, love _needs_ to conquer. Specifically that between an angel and a human. I would have preferred a less rocky road to see its ultimate culmination though."

"And this is your almighty plan? To reopen the gates of Heaven, you've decided to play the Holy Matchmaker?" Castiel glared.

"Yes. It is. And what's so wrong with that, Castiel?! If you haven't noticed I am one of the many who have lost faith that good _does_ triumph. It may not have been what drove me to leave, but it kept me away. The world sees me as this indifferent overseer who has endless ability to fix everything, to make it all better! They want Free Will but they have not the strength to survive it! The only saving grace that I have seen is love. So yes, _this_ is the balance that is needed to reopen heaven!"

The words left Castiel feeling small. This great Father he'd always imagined was nothing so great after all. He seemed as affected by things just as the rest of the world was. So…human.

And seemingly, just as helpless as the rest of his creations.

In the end, in a terribly low voice, he'd asked, "How? Tell me what needs to happen."

And God told him. In a string of flowery words, simultaneously being carved into stone in God's own script, became the reality—that like some written love story—such as those by Shakespeare—Dean would have to love him enough to marry him: _A Union under God._

Once written, that was the end of it. The _only_ cure for Metatron's spell. It had to be real, and it had to be true.

...

Finding his thoughts returned to the present where he was seated in a large chair in a vast library within the mansion, he silently begged his Father for mercy. Mercy on them against this war, mercy on himself, having to wait out the inevitable as it related to Dean—whatever that final act might be.

If this was God challenging him, or them, it was a good one. But mostly, it felt like nothing more than a game. He felt, at last, that perhaps he understood Dean's anger towards the destined path, the futility of it, the feeling that it was all out of your control. There was no doubt that he loved Dean, that no matter how it started or why, the honesty of it couldn't be denied.

Letting his thoughts fall back from the forefront of his mind, he took a deep breath.

Castiel felt tension the same as he once did as a human, the tightness cinching up the back of his neck and drawing his shoulders together. He reached back and rubbed at his neck, pressing into the muscle in the hopes for relief.

But none came. This was weariness that dug in deep, and stayed.

…

By midday the following afternoon, great crowds of individuals were grouped in a vacant dwelling several miles from the mansion. The Brotherhood wouldn't allow anyone else in the place they called home. There may not have been enough room anyway. At least here, the vampires were protected from the day inside the large vast space of the building, with the others mingling around outside. Those who had yet to arrive would meet everyone here at nightfall. This included all of the Brotherhood, and some angels arriving by car. The list of his brothers and sisters signed on to fight was greater than he'd expected. It seemed they wanted to see Heaven open more than they wanted to wreak vengeance on Castiel for causing its dismantling in the first place.

In addition to the Brotherhood, civilian males of that race had volunteered to fight; the King, after hearing what was at stake, essentially draft-listed great masses of their population. Within the strength of their force were two incredible females; powerful, with their own special sets of skills that Castiel admired greatly. Xhex—the bartender whom he remembered, and Payne, Vishous' own sister.

But the mass of fighters didn't end there. Hunters by the droves were ready to go. All of them had been fighting tooth and nail against the upsurge of this new evil, and if the ultimate fight was going down, they were not going to be sitting on the sidelines. Some of them had driven through the night to get here, the rest being flown in by Cas or Lassiter.

Very gung-ho these hunters, or so Dean would say. Castiel admired that.

Overnight, in a staggering spectacle that represented the fight for everything good, they had managed around two hundred fighters available to them. Compared to battles of the past, it might be a piddly display, but it was all they could manage on such short notice.

Castiel remained off to the side, standing against a tree nearly as old as the country, in an attempt to save himself having to hear people talk about specifics. The constant whisper of Dean's name sent waves of pain through his chest. Solitude now was better.

It was a blessing when his phone rang, to give him a different focus for his mind.

"How do you wanna play this?" asked Vishous through the speaker. The daylight restricted him to the mansion until nightfall.

"How do you mean?"

For a moment nothing but air came across the line.

" _Dean_ , Cas. What's your plan there, Angel?"

A tired sigh escaped him. "I won't know 'til I see him. When you've seen him in your mind, how does he look to you?"

"You really wanna know?"

"I need to."

"Grey. Like the colour's been washed away."

Castiel rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Thank you for telling me."

"Still don't know what you're gonna do, huh?"

"No. But keep everyone away from him. Let me handle it."

"Fuck that, man. The others can take a backseat, but I'll be there with ya. These last few months, Angel, me and you, we're tight, ya feel me?"

"Yes. And thank you for everything. You've been, as Dean would say, like family."

"Damn true, Brother. Hey, been meaning to ask about your man's ink—where'd he get the idea for that?"

A glorious image of Dean's muscled back came to mind, Castiel's name in black thick Enochian letters stretched across the top.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "All he said was that it was his choice, something that he wanted to do. Didn't say where the exact idea came from. Regardless, I don't believe he has any idea that in your world, it's equivalent to identifying a union, much the way a ring denotes marriage with humans."

Oh, how the irony hurt, a cramp aching inside his heart.

"Let's hope he doesn't have any _questionable_ relatives, true?"

"I'm quite certain he is one-hundred percent human." Or…he was the last I saw of him, Castiel tacked on silently.

Vishous said nothing further. When the call ended, Castiel felt worse than he had before.

/\/\/\

V treaded around the foyer of the Mansion, his blood pumping more adrenaline than Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. The Brotherhood surrounded him, standing still as they waited for the sun to go down. Everyone had their directions, and even those who could not flash from one location to the next, were going to be displaced by Castiel en masse. The vampires had their own abilities after all.

Without turning, he knew Butch was by his side. Their earlier conversation was still nagging at him. Despite how it ended, he had a feeling Butch was gonna try and be a damn hero anyway.

Like _fuck_ V's gonna let the guy suck back every lesser he can! Vishous did not sign on for that amount of hells-no.

"I won't be able to watch your back, cop!" he'd said when they were still back at the two-bedroom apartment next to the mansion, affectionately referred to as the Pit, where they both lived with their better-halves.

"You don't need to V, I know what I'm doing. I know what I can handle."

"We're going to motherfucking war," he enunciated severely, "and you think you'll have time to toke some evil on the sidelines? The fuck, cop?! Get your head on straight, cause I'm not dealing with this bullshit. If you die—"

"That's what this is about?" Butch pegged him with a hard eye.

Vishous went still. What could he say? It was damn part of it. Butch was his closest friend, his roommate, and a whole slew of undefinable feelings that they let hang silently between them.

He met Butch's hazel eyes. "Obviously I don't want you to die. But you need to be smart, you're important to our side of this war in the long run. Your mission isn't a sprint, cop, it's a long distance fucking triathlon, true?"

"V, my man, look me in the eye and tell me the truth, what are the odds? What are we lookin' at?"

Butch's accent had thickened throughout the day, the more ramped up he got, the worse it was, and for a brief moment, Vishous had a moment of horror, wondering if, after this night, he might never hear that stupid southie accent again.

Shoving the fear deep, V adjusted his 'who-fuck-made-me-squad-leader' hat and said, "We're looking about two hundred strong on our side. The lessers, from what I could tell…maybe as much as triple that, if not more. Fuck, it was rows and rows, cop. Shit was unreal."

"Jesus…" The cop exhaled, his eyes rolling with shock.

"Precisely. So promise me you'll hold off. Don't stick me with the sight of your death, cause…yeah, it won't go over so well, you know?"

When he managed to look up, Butch was watching him strangely, confused-like.

"You remember that day after the night at the Commodore?" asked Butch, his voice low.

Several hours spent locked in a room alone with Butch? Umm, duh. "What about it?"

"I know we left it…at that." Butch grew nervous, running his big hand through his light brown hair. "You never really said anything after, you never… _uh_ …indicated that…it was an open invitation."

Butch cleared his throat awkwardly. His Irish-bred face turning a violent shade of red.

_Okaaaaaaay._

A monkey spontaneously appearing and clobbering V on the head with a cast-iron skillet would have been less surprising than the turn of the conversation. It had been goddamn months since that day.

He stumbled to reply, "Christ, cop, what are you saying right now?"

"You ain't the only one worried about what might happen tonight." Well, fuck.

Abruptly, V grinned. "Damn cop, you hittin' on me?"

"Fuck you—"

Butch _just_ managed to finish the word before V's lips were on him. Sure, their women could have busted through the front doors and been all WTF, but V so didn't care in that moment. Of course, knowing that both women were all in the know on the whole _cough-cough_ thing with Butch made things easier.

…

Back in the foyer, he turned to his left to meet Butch's stare. "You good?"

The guy nodded. "You?"

"Psyched up and ready to fight. But just so we're clear, none of that special lesser crap tonight, ya?"

"V, I promise."

"You better, cop. Or so help me, I will beat the shit out of your white Irish ass."

"Duly noted."

 


	32. Man Your Battle Stations, We'll Have You Dead Pretty Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Title is from Coheed and Cambria's In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3. Everyone should read about this band's music and comics and the way their songs tell stories, it's incredible.

> _Man your battle stations, we'll have you home pretty soon, and now..._

* * *

There were brothers and sisters at Castiel's back; some from his original family, and some from what he considered an extended family, which was made up primarily by Sam, and Jody, but also Vishous and some of his race as well.

In a massive presence, using a huge swell of his and Lassiter's power, they shifted through space in thick masses; angels and vampires and hunters. Their army consisted of 237 bodies, some with wings, some with fangs, and some with unmatched perseverance and years of experience fighting monsters. Their numbers might have been lacking, but their collective brawn and cunning put them well over their perceived strength.

Upon arriving, the cold wind blasted them all with a striking disorientation, gusts whipping so loud that it drowned out the sound of their arrival. The night was black here, darker this far north, but the ground was crisp white with a vast blanket of snow. The full moon overhead cast a dim radiance of light over the sparse uninhabited swath of land, the flecks of snow sparkling as they got thrown around in the wind. Only a few dozen spindly evergreens disrupted the flow of the landscape.

It was snowing heavily, millions of white dots whirled around in the strong wind. The whip of it battered against Castiel's exposed skin, but he felt only the barest of sensations from it. All of his senses were poised to find Dean.

The malevolence he sensed. Maybe a hundred yards east of where they were. Burying all his worries, he walked towards it.

Vishous, Butch, Sam, Jody and Crowley flanked him in a line as they progressed forward towards the overwhelming pull of evil. The stink of it astounded him—how it managed to survive the strength of the building snowstorm and the sharp dip of the temperature, he wasn't sure.

Of all of them, he was the first to see them. _To see Dean._

Through the impedance of the dense flecks of snow, he saw the shape of a human, more like a shadow against the night. It was the soul he saw first, Dean's soul. He'd never seen anything like it. The effulgent light of it was twisted with shadow, with long strings of black—like slippery eels. Possession did not present in this way. This was something new. Castiel had no answers for whatever this was.

The snow crunched under his feet as he moved closer. The gap between the opposing forces lessened as the tension grew. They all waited for the tip; for that one action that would spring free the first bout of violence.

Now, he could see Dean's face. The skin he knew was no longer the shade of pink and tan he was familiar with, but a dull grey. Just as Vishous had told him it would be. If he didn't know any better, he would think Dean were a walking corpse. His eyes were no longer green but the colour of an overcast sky. They had no depth.

The expression he wore was vapid and motionless, his eyes not even blinking against the torrent of cold air and precipitation around them.

Beyond Dean stood the rows of lessers. Their grayscale palette of white hair, dead-eyes, and slatternly attire against the backdrop of the black night and the white snow made it seem as if Castiel were looking through to an old movie. Stretching out his angelic senses, he ran the sums of all before him and had to take breath when he reached an astounding total of 717 lessers—Dean making it 718. Some of the undead grinned at him. Castiel bowed his head low to regard them all with overflowing dominance as the wind howled around him, his coat billowing around his thighs.

Rumbling, thick growls ripped up from behind him, the vampires losing themselves to the anticipation of a long-sought battle with their enemy. Rallying roars and hollers rose from the mouths of humans, all their anger curling up into the wind in clouds of white. The sound of knives being pulled out cut through the icy air and, finally, Castiel allowed himself to meet Dean's eyes—before it would be too late.

They were no less than ten feet apart.

On the verge of saying something—he wasn't sure what yet, Dean smirked at him. Not in a creepy way Cas might have expected, but in a cocky way.

It would have worried him, or terrified him, but with that trade-mark smirk, he saw the soul twist away from the black serpent-like hold. Dean was fighting…

The lips that Castiel could remember kissing, twitched the smallest amount, and then Castiel heard what no one else would hear: _It's okay,_ he prayed, _I'm winning._ Dean smirked once more. The expression was not without effort, but it didn't matter. This time, Dean would come out on top, and he knew it. They both knew it. Nothing would ever hold sway over them again, not ever. A fight was before them, a daunting one, but as they stood there in the howling wind and thick currents of falling snow, hundreds of bodies at their backs, they knew they would find their way back to each other.

This was the beginning, not the end.

Time slowed as Cas allowed an angel blade to slip from the hidden side of this dimension and fall into his waiting hand. Grinning mischievously, he angled his head to the side, allowing the others to see his expression for a fleeting second before he tossed Dean the blade.

"What are _you doing_?!" someone cried in outrage.

Which side it erupted from, was hard to say, because the moment Dean caught the blade he slunk backwards towards his waiting army, delaying to the last second before he shifted around at the waist and knifed through the chest of a lesser on the front line. Pausing to yank the blade out, he went for the next, and didn't stop there.

The chaos broke free with that action. _The tipping point_. Most angels didn't bother walking to meet their targets, but sped inhumanly, discordantly over small distances with broken wings hurling them between one move and the next. Castiel did the same, though with a full wingspan and near full power. He reoriented his human form rapidly, plunging his spare blade into each new target.

Dean was somewhere, fighting with him. Though he was fighting two battles at once and Castiel had to get to him as fast as possible, and he'd kill everything in his path until he saw those green eyes again. He could sense Vishous reappearing and disappearing with him. Both of them checked back over their shoulders and each other's, easily matching their strength and style of fighting, they moved in an effortless coordinated dance of violence that proved to be highly effective at laying waste to their targets.

Sam careened past him, knife slicing across a bared throat before piercing into the lesser's left chest cavity. The thing vanished with a flash of light, and the burst of illumination was only one of dozens that could be seen for several hundred feet.

Something grabbed at Castiel and he flung back, left elbow up and back, right hand gripped on the blade lunging around and sinking in deep into the enemy, taking care of the threat with ease. Feeling blood drip down his chin from an errant knife of his attacker, he was reminded that their weapons could hurt him. Pissed off, he wiped the blood off with the sleeve of his coat. When he turned back towards the west, Jody was there saving him from an unseen approach of another undead. Two more lessers charged at them, and he and Jody fought alongside each other for a time.

Thinking of her as family, Castiel was extra protective—to her annoyance—as they fought together, swiftly darting around her to slay threats. At times, he'd simply wrap his arm around her, or a wing at one time, and transfer them a few feet in whatever direction best to avoid the enemy's promising attack. Though Castiel was not the only one of them with battle-chivalry. Jody, too, shoved him out of harm's way and thwarted a few approaches that his quick senses had missed.

There were bodies everywhere, black blood from the lessers spraying up, coating the wintry floor of the expanse of naked land they were in. It was on his coat, fat smears of ink slowly mixing with red.

The piercing sound of an angel perishing screamed in his ears. It was the first he knew of one of them falling since the battle began. There was barely a second offered to him to adjust before a second deathly wail startled him, his wings fluttering unseen as they, too, felt the loss.

Forcing himself to move on, Castiel flipped his blade to the left hand and tore off towards whatever white-haired, sickly sweet thing stumbled into his path. Steadying their bodies with his palm on their face, he knifed them with the other hand, snarling with each kill, wondering when he'd reach a grayed-out countenance he recognized.

Hours into the fight, it got to the point where, not only was flying to each new encounter preferred, but almost necessary from the growing numbers of bodies littering the ground and making it impossible to walk a clear path.

Walking through the empty space his last kill had once occupied, Castiel caught sight of two vampires facing off against three big, white-haired lessers; a hunter was sneaking up from behind the other side as backup. When the group collided and dissipated, some injured, but the lessers down, was when he saw Dean again, standing beyond them all at the edge of the east corner of the vast skirmish.

Standing apart from the fight, he seemed to be talking to someone—the calm ambience of the moment in severe contrast to everything else. All Castiel could see was a sliver of black that blocked out the backdrop of the falling snow, and a crisp line of glowing white near the ground. Staring for too long in confusion, he was knocked to the ground, the air rushing out from his lungs in a whoosh as he landed in the compacted snow.

The weight of the lesser pressed him into the cold, the wetness soaking quickly through his jacket and pants. Struggling to turn over, he lost his blade and twisted around to get it back, his hand scrambling through the icy powder. It took significant effort, but he pulled his wings to this plane of reality and shifted in space from under the lesser to on top of him.

" _I return you to your master, vile creature_!" he growled in Enochian, finally snatching his blade and then sinking it slowly through skin, muscle and bone, until he punctured the empty hollow where the heart used to be. The heart that rested somewhere in a jar, an organ-shaped prison for a stolen soul.

The illuminated death flashed against his face, and he was on all fours in the snow when he looked up and saw Dean, a few yards from him, encased in a white glow. Most worrisome of all, he was ten feet off the ground, arms and legs spread out, chest up towards the sky and his head hanging back. Castiel was rendered speechless and frozen from eyelids to toes until he was gratefully interrupted.

Vishous peered down at him, his two fangs more menacing with the grin he wore. "Get up, slacker!" he barked, hauling Castiel to his feet.

"What's happening?" asked Castiel, the fear shaking his voice, eyes still trained on the sight that he failed to comprehend.

Slapping Castiel's back, Vishous nodded with approval. "Good old mother-dearest is intervening, I think."

Castiel sent V a fleeting look of concern. Clasping him on the shoulder, V leaned close to his face to be sure he was heard over the noise. "Hey, it'll be fine. He's in good hands, trust me. I'd never let nothin' happen to your love."

The sound of another angel dying cut through the air, the ash of their broken wings no doubt scorched across the stained snow, which was already curdled with blood and fallen bodies.

The two of them were blindsided by a barrage of lessers and they were forced to keep fighting. Not able to get to Dean, he prayed, just like other nights where desperation found him, he prayed to the Father he wasn't even sure he believed in. Unlike the thoughts of children, Castiel found that seeing indeed did not equate to belief.

/\/\/\

I'm fucking dying, Dean thought. _Again_. Seriously, _what_ are the odds!?

The beginning of the night started out with the Omega believing that he'd turned Dean into a willful dog. Little did he know, that deep down in every fibre of his being, in the centre of every nucleus of his cells, he was fighting tooth and nail against the evil trying to twist with his soul. In a bizarre way, it felt nearly the same as fighting a cold—you know, if that cold was like an insanely lethal strain of the ebola virus and also rabies.

But this wasn't his first rodeo. Evil had ridden him before…literally. And he'd _felt_ evil before, maybe not the same, maybe not as well, but no way was he giving in that easy. He had too much to fight for this time around.

No matter how wrong he knew he was—what with the dead-looking dermis he had on, the lack of colour in the world that he saw, and the cold stone inside his chest where his heart beat alarmingly slow—he knew to fight.

The moment he saw Cas and Sam standing strong, having come for him, _that_ had been the little bit of strength he'd needed to unravel the hold that the dark virus had on him.

And like a disobedient pet, he'd turned, and attacked the army he was supposedly set up to lead. Fighting hard for hours wore him to the bone, and when he felt that he couldn't hold up any longer, a woman came to him the way a dream does, slow and progressive. Though he couldn't see her exactly, he felt her presence like a warm fire on a cold night, like the smell of his mother's perfume, or the scent of Sam as a baby. Even though she could have very well been the enemy, Dean loosened his posture, letting the fight drain out of him.

"I know not of what shall transpire this night, but balance, indeed, must be kept. Mr. Winchester, tell me, do you feel evil?"

He felt forced to search himself, to ensure honesty went along with his reply. Finally, he looked at the cloaked form and said, "No. It's in here, but it's not me. I swear." Raising his hands, he displayed his defenselessness, his giving in.

"This war may be beyond my power to end, but certain atrocities and interferences afflicted by my brother are _not_ to burden you or your world. Verily, you have suffered near enough for a short human life. Such travesty that I would wish not upon any of my children over the many years of their time in this world. Hold out your palm, hunter."

Immediately, he did as told, raising his arm and flipping the thing so his life lines faced the moon. The black cloak did not slip free as she lifted her hand over his. The bright sliver of light shining from the bottom made him wonder what the heck this chick was and why he so readily trusted her.

And why the fuck did she smell like the innocent things he loved?

It started as a tingle, moving up from his hand to his elbow, a shiver riding in its wake, crawling up to his shoulder, making him flinch like he was shrugging, or possibly having a seizure. The sensation went through him in that way, scouring though his veins like a roadsweeper, until Dean realized he was in the air, and all he could see was light. Though it wicked bright, and almost too hot, it managed to sooth him. From nowhere, his heart began to pound harder, coming back to full life, racing for it, as every inch of his skin sparked, his hair standing on end.

In some ways, it reminded him of Heaven. Specifically, the place where he'd met God. A white expanse around him. Except now, the space was electrified and he floated in the centre of it.

When it ended, he was left freezing and on the ground, memories of the event cloudy and distorted in his mind. Voices moved around overhead, but they weren't speaking _to_ him. No, he was only a bystander to another conversation.

One waaaay the fuck above his pay-grade.

"What have you done, sister?!" The Omega's voice boomed. Dean wanted to get angry and beat the goddamn black void to death but he simply couldn't get up. Wished he could though, the snow was so frigging wet. She might have saved him from evil, but it would really suck to go and die of hypothermia.

"I cannot allow this." _You go girl!_ Dean thought, a little muddled in the head.

Following her words, the slip of black silk that had been covering her disappeared. Replacing the dark spot where she had been was now a blinding light that forced him to twist away and clamp his eyes shut. If he could imagine what an angel in its true form might look like, this was probably pretty damn close. Other than the fact that she was still the size of a petite lady and Cas had bragged he was basically the size of the frigging Empire State building or something as equally terrifying.

"Banishing me now will not see you triumph, sister!" the Omega screeched. His voice was thin, more air than depth, and bone-chilling creepy.

"Go thou, now, brother." The radiance around her, the white that blasted the landscaped rose to a peak. Accompanying it was a sound so sharp that he had to cover his ears, and hoped they didn't bleed. The air seemed to quaver with the flux of energy that surrounded both entities. Each trying in vain to snuff the other. The glowing God-lady was winning though. Boo-yah, jackass!

"Good riddance!" Dean croaked, his arm half-raised to give the haze of evil the finger.

The dark presence slowly sucked into a void, like an old box-TV turning off. The sound it made as it was sent somewhere hopefully far, far away turned his blood cold. Never had a sound reached into him and scraped its nails against his soul, but by God that was exactly what had happened. The goddess that had healed him of her brother's stank was also nowhere to be seen.

With both powerful beings gone, he was left soaked through and shivering until someone eventually stumbled towards him. It was a young woman he didn't recognize with curly dark hair, her breath billowed out white from the cold. "Mr. Winchester?"

The lethargic pull on his limbs lessened fractionally. "Maybe, who are you?"

The woman shifted her gaze, whipped back and knifed some undead lesser dude with an angel blade. She quickly turned back to him. "I am Anael," she said, helping pull him to his feet. "We're to protect you, stand behind me." She pushed him back, angel-mojoing him dry and warm at the same time. Which was nice of her, he supposed. Didn't mean he was just gonna stand there; frigging World War of the Underworld was going on all around him. What did she think he was gonna do? Twiddle his thumbs?

Now that he was on two feet again, seeing with colours and everything, he felt a hell of a lot more cognizant and bent to pick up the forgotten angel blade that Cas had given him—

 _Shit_ , Cas!

"Fuck." Dean snapped to her, wrenching her shoulder back to face him. "Where's Castiel?"

"I don't know," she answered harshly, shoving him out of the way so she could fight.

Grunting like a brute, Dean pettily shoved back, starting a side-fight of his own with a lesser approaching from the far left.

"You're not to fight, you're to be protected!" she yelled at him.

"Eat me!" Dean hollered back, giving a nice snap, crackle, pop death to the thing in front of him. He didn't know what that woman in the black cloak had done to him but he hadn't felt this much like himself in a really long time.

It was good. Scratch that, it was… _awesome_!

It wasn't long before he was covered in black slick, the battery of noise from the fight slamming against his eardrums. In the midst of dodges and lunges, he prayed to Cas, _I'm coming for you so don't you go on die on me, alright!?_

/\/\/\

Vishous buzzed with energy. He could feel the ripple of exhilaration ride him like a wicked high and he knew when he saw his S _hellan_ later, he wouldn't waste time on words, he'd get them stripped down and in bed faster than you could say: Fuck Yeah.

And then you know what? After that, he was gonna march his ass down the short hallway of the Pit and knock on Butch and Marissa's door and ask to borrow his friend. As long as the cop was not otherwise occupied, of course.

Over several hours, the yelling that surrounded them gradually shifted from frantic shrieks to brisk orders and all-purpose back and forth between fighters working side-by-side. So far, he counted thirteen angel deaths. Many civilian vampires were dead. Rhage had hulked out into his cursed beast form and was nowhere to be seen. V hoped the guy was doin' alright. Hunters also had gone down. A lot of them…

The last angel death had been not three minutes ago. He'd been dematerializing all over the stretch of land, trying to find Castiel to make sure he had not been the angel who'd just gotten snuffed.

Before he located the love-struck angel, he felt the atmosphere change. The adrenaline that had soaked the air, smelling of battery acid, rippled and lessened. The swift, sharp motions of violence notably dwindled. And with it, he felt the oncoming sunrise, maybe not more than forty minutes away.

They had fought through the night, and the dead lay in droves over the snow, now blackened in patterns of dark blood and fossilized expanse of wings. The remaining lessers were hightailing it outta there. Vishous dematerialized in full bad-assery, knifing one coward after another.

He managed an impressive eight in a row before he got haymakered in the face. Growling, he moved to fling himself at the attacker, only to realize it was Butch.

"Chillax. I had to stop you somehow," his friend said.

"I was on a roll, why'd you stop me, cop!?"

Butch bodily spun him around to show him the full view of the landscape. "This is why."

 _Damn_.

They'd undeniably won. And the remaining lessers were being sliced and restrained, but not killed.

"Cop, no."

"You're out of excuses, my man. Get that glowworm hand ready, I'll be needin' it."

"Fuck." V breathed, trailing after the cop at a light jog. Guy might be right, but V wasn't happy about it.

As they progressed back towards the epicentre of the battle, where the largest clumps of dead rested in grave silence, he saw Dean standing apart, like an island.

Others in the vicinity had stopped moving, turning to face the hunter. People shifted with purpose to regroup. Maybe they didn't know, or couldn't tell that Dean was on their side. None moved to advance on him though. Most just watching…

And then V saw why.

Standing in front of them all was Castiel, walking towards Dean after the apparent end of his last kill, the angel still in the midst of wiping blood from his blade. The shadow of his wings spread out over the snow. The angel didn't seem aware he was flashin' feathers either. They were fucking magnificent, and V did not use that adjective lightly.

The rolling intensity between the angel and his human could be felt from where V stood. The air shifted as the male's brother walked to stand beside Vishous and Butch, his woman strong by his side. Their eyes all set on the spot twenty feet ahead.

Dean twitched, waiting for the man showing wingspan. His skin was once again human with its light tan marked with dim freckles, green eyes bright with energy from the adrenaline. The man's breath was thick, coming out in puffs of white in the cold air. Steam rose off him, his hard body too warm for the wintry climate.

Each step Castiel took, with his angelic presence thrumming and wings twitching, the blanket of snow, in a travelling radius was wiped free of blood; turning back to the cold, unmarred white. Dude probably didn't even know he was doing it. Every step erasing the remnants of a battle.

Such is the power of love, V thought, throwing his arm around the dude's brother. "Epic shit, bro."

Sam Winchester merely nodded, squeezing the woman to his side. Both a little robbed of breath as they watched.

The two at the centre of the field didn't notice them all gaping; their world had reduced to each other. The instant Cas was within arm's reach, Dean attacked, snatching the now clean lapels of the over-sized coat and crushed the angel to him. Both men sucked back a breath of icy air before sealing together in a near violent kiss, like they knew they better pile up on the oxygen, 'cause it was gonna be few and far between after that.

The kiss was so damn hot that most of them watching shifted uneasily. Damn, it was like free PPV Porn. What with the grabbing and the practically eating each other's face off.

The man's baby brother beside him cleared his throat. V chuckled.

And it didn't end there. The Angel, not to be outdone, gave back as good as he got—hands moving to press the human harder against him. With a rough groan, audible to nearly everyone, Dean yanked off the angel's coat.

The next second, with the heavy beat of wings on the air, the two were gone. The beige trench fell to the ground, accidentally getting left behind.

"Mary, Mother of Jesus…I think I need a shower," muttered the cop—ever the Catholic boy. Sort of funny that he'd just witnessed an honest-to-God angel basically dry-hump a battle-worn man. Both of them starting out dirty and blood-stained to be scrubbed free by angelic influence the moment they'd touched. As with the rest of the landscape, they too had been cleaned of the battle. Vishous wondered what else from the past they'd managed to wipe free tonight. Good for them, he thought, those two deserved the night they were about to have. 'Cause sure as shit, V had smelled the promise of sex from twenty-feet away as if there'd been a hooker sitting on his lap sticking payment into her bra cup.

Wearing a teasing smile, V turned to Sam and Jody. "It must suck to live with those two."

"Well, it's sure gonna suck now."

Coming up behind them, in a winding gait, singing low, was Crowley—the former demon King of Hell. On principle, Vishous hated the poncy fucker. The new-ish human spun the blade in his hand in a continuous circle as he approached, a wide grin set upon his face. " _Caaaaan you feel the loooove tonight?"_

Each one of them rolled their eyes and walked away, hearing the "Hey!" shouted to their backs.

Before the sun forced their hasty retreat, Butch sucked back as many of the lessers as he was able. Vishous tried to work his hand magic as they went but soon it was too much to hold at bay and he had to force the guy to call it quits.

The rest of the remaining lessers were knifed. A swift express-post delivery back to the Omega.

The hunters and angels were given specific instructions on the 'How-To' of getting the souls back—usually kept with the heart in a jar—as was the Omega's M.O. It would be a long and arduous process finding out where all the jars were since most of the bodies used didn't actually belong to the souls traded. These bodies had been no more than stolen corpses.

The Omega had essentially Frankenstein'ed himself an army, and it was left to them to reorganize the pieces. What a fuckin' job ahead of them that would be.

"I'm gettin' _right_ wasted today!" Rhage hollered, reappearing with dishevelled clothes. Beast in check.

"I'm down for that," Zsadist added.

Vishous turned to the three humans still with them. "You're welcome to come back and have some drinks with us, if you want?"

A gnarly groan came from V's right. "I'm gonna barf."

"C'mere, cop, we'll get ya feelin' better in no time, too." V'd already hit him up with healing action, but the guy wasn't all the way good yet.

Butch slumped against his chest and mumbled something low. V slipped his hand to the guy's back, sliding against his over-heated skin.

Them, and the rest of the Brotherhood, Lassiter taking the three humans, materialized back at the mansion—Ready to get their motherfuckin' drink on!

 


	33. Touch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quote is Kissing You by Des'ree. Also there is a brief flashback paragraph for Dean in this chapter that is graphic and noncon. It is italicized so skip if you want.

  


_"But watching stars without you_  
_My soul cries_

_Heaving heart is full of pain  
Oh, oh, the aching_

_'Cause I'm kissing you, oh  
I am kissing you, oh_

_Touch me deep, pure and true  
Gift to me forever"_

* * *

Words were lost in touch: A palm ghosting over his skin beneath his shirt, the feeling of breath blowing hot over his neck, the warmth and wetness of an inviting mouth...

What mattered was the heat radiating from Cas' body, and how it crept into him, pushing out the cold, both real and perceived.

Even as he struggled to undo buttons, they didn't stop kissing; the wild frenzy of it feeling slow and fast at the same time. Familiar, battle-worn hands slipped up the back of Dean's shirt, nails scratching lightly over his skin, palms pressing into him, pushing their chests together.

With amazing speed, they peeled the clothes off of one another, not seeming to break apart for this. Only when Dean's shirts were wrenched over his head all in one go, was he forced to let go. He took a needed breath and promptly searched out Cas' mouth with his eyes closed.

Unbelievably, Dean didn't shake, and he wasn't freaking out. Instead he felt loose, a bit listless, bordering on the sensation of intoxication, feeling that blind desire for fulfillment and recognition.

All he wanted was for Cas to continue paying attention to him, continue touching his skin and commanding his mouth like it were his own.

Together, they walked backwards; stepping away from the pile of clothes they'd left on the floor. Cas was flush on him, his skin almost too hot against Dean's. The angel's arms had wrapped tight around his ribs, squeezing Dean partially off the floor. His bare feet shuffled back over the hard surface until his calves hit the edge of a bed.

_His bed._

It took till that moment to fully realize they were back in his room. And thank god for that, considering they were without a stitch on them.

Releasing him from the tight embrace, Cas tenderly stroked his back and shifted, pausing with his hands at Dean's sides, running them soothingly up and down.

Cas lowered his head, inhaling deep. On the exhale, he said Dean's name. The name was a question, a proclamation and a rejoice all in one and Dean closed his eyes to let it wash over him.

When he had grounded himself, he lifted his eyelids to find Cas watching him, blue eyes rapidly moving back and forth.

 _I know_ , he thought, opening his mind to a prayer.

Taking the lead, Dean cupped around the back of Castiel's neck and pulled him forward as Dean lowered down to the bed, shifting his legs apart to give his angel room.

/\/\/\

In a daze, Castiel moved with Dean, seeing nothing but the vibrant green of his eyes. The excitement of pressing down, skin meeting from chest to feet and everywhere in between was enough to send his heart into borderline arrhythmia.

Cas braced a hand on the bed beside Dean's expanding ribs, and let the other trail down from his hip to the outside of his thigh, the muscle solid beneath his palm. And fantastically warm.

Moving slowly, Dean wound his arms around Castiel's neck and guided their faces close, short breaths mixing between them. Delaying the kiss, Dean meekly stared up at him. The set gaze turned lazy as he licked over his swollen bottom lip and arched his body, moving his hips deliciously against Castiel's groin, putting pressure in all the right places.

The tease stole Cas of breath, the air rushing out. Blood rapidly drained down to his already stiff erection, making it flinch between them. Feeling the response, Dean groaned and rubbed against him more.

The sinuous movements were slow, and it was clear that Dean was enjoying the way they strained against each other. If nothing else, the way he whispered Cas' name, eyes rolling back as his hips rolled up was more than obvious.

It may only have been a mere two days apart, but it had felt endless in that time, and so much had happened, so much truth rattled loose, leaving him vulnerable. And for that reason, Castiel needed to feel Dean with him, completely. And absolutely all night, or rather, _day_ … If Dean would let him.

There was no telling what tomorrow might bring.

Crushing their lips together, he licked eagerly into Dean's mouth, tasting warmth and revelling in the slick, soft texture of it. They moved together flawlessly, tongues stroking and pushing, shifting the control of the kiss back and forth. Turning his head and deepening the kiss always dragged a wanton moan out of Dean, so he kept at it, tasting Dean deeply, slowly, shifting his body in sync with the plunge of his tongue.

Dean's teeth scraped his lip, tugging gently, and then he felt Dean part his legs wider: _An invitation._

Castiel stopped, freezing still to focus on Dean with sobered attention.

Yes, he could've continued, knowing in his heart that Dean was in the right frame of mind, but still, he had to ask. He needed to be _absolutely_ sure. From all that Dean had been through, it was not lightly that they made this decision. No full discussion was needed, but a clear-headed moment definitely was.

"Dean, I need you to say yes. I need to hear that you want this."

Dean swallowed thick and nodded, pulling them together and kissing him soundly on the mouth without tongue; a pure, tender display of affection. The touch of Dean's soft lips moved on to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, and right to his ear where he said, "I'm really okay. And I definitely want this. I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"In a good way, though, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean confirmed with a crooked grin.

Castiel kissed that smile, running his hands across Dean's chest, and then belly—stroking and gently rubbing the warm flesh, feeling muscle and the dull thud of his heartbeat. It occurred to him that he could easily lay there and listen to that sound for hours, and wish for nothing else.

Castiel shifted back to his knees, continuing the wander of his hands, all the while watching Dean for signs of distress. Especially when he moved to the dip at Dean's groin, fingers tracing the way it sloped down to where his erection stood thick over his pelvis.

"Touch me," Dean told him.

Meeting Dean's eyes, he felt like all of their past sexual experiences were nowhere near this level of intimate—which made little sense. And yet, everything _was_ different. Maybe because he knew where this was leading, or maybe they'd just fallen more ridiculously in love—it was hard to say.

He murmured Dean's name when his fist closed around the hot length of flesh. The body under him curled up into his hand. Both incapable of being still, they worked him together; Cas with his hand, Dean canting his hips up.

With his free hand, Castiel reached up to rub Dean's chest more, feeling the expanse of breath, the rapidly beating heart. He cupped Dean's chin and moved back up to kiss him, plying his lips and sliding his tongue in between them. The responsive moan, and the eager return of affection, sent Cas' brain into a fog.

Unexpectedly, in the middle of a deep kiss, tongues colliding, the room full of desperate sounds, Dean thumped his legs on the bed at either side of Cas' hips, planting his feet down and pushing up, roughly slamming their groins together. " _Mmnn_ …" Dean whimpered, straining for more. Taking the cue, Cas wrapped his hand around both of them and started rocking his hips aggressively forward.

Dean groaned relief into his mouth, a vibration that made his mouth water. Muscular arms trapped Castiel in the rough kiss, smashing the two of them together in a way that made their teeth hit.

He rhythmically dragged his palm up and down their cocks, pushing into his own fist, moving with Dean. But their breath came faster, beginning to pant, and he knew they both wanted more. 

Dean unlatched his arms and seized Castiel's face, thumbs passing over his cheeks, and then his mouth, tracing the movement with his eyes. Dean watched him with a fierce intensity, waiting for him to take the next step.

 _I'm okay_ , Dean prayed.

Hearing that deep voice inside himself caused his breath to hitch. He lost pace with what he was doing and groped possessively down the inside of Dean's thigh. Moving back up, he cupped Dean's balls, rolling them in his fingers, watching Dean squirm in pleasure beneath him.

" _Ughn_ … Ca _ssss_."

Bracing on the bed, he dipped his head and latched on to Dean's throat, sucking kisses there, finding that he couldn't help wanting to mark Dean. Despite knowing that on Dean's back was his name in glaring black letters.

Kissing and sucking all the way down to Dean's collarbone, he stopped, shifted lower and pressed a kiss over Dean's heart, breathing in the salty scent of his skin.

And then he glanced up.

The green eyes set on him were glazed over. Dean chewed his bottom lip, having pulled it into his mouth. Castiel reached up and tugged it free with a smile.

Dean redirected his focus towards the nightstand, and then quickly turned back to Cas, lifting his eyebrows in a question.

Squeezing Dean's thigh to say, ' _Don't worry, I got it,'_ he willed the bottle of lube into his hand.

With a funny nervous chuckle, Dean yanked him back down and kissed him forcefully, not letting go, not letting Cas move much to get his hand between Dean's legs. The kiss was a needed distraction while Castiel reached down and ran his finger across Dean's tight entrance. It didn't surprise him when Dean flinched, but he stopped anyway. Dean met his eyes with a firm look, no words needed to tell him to get on with it.

Shifting to give him room, Dean laid himself out; one arm back to grab at the headboard, the other around Cas—hand buried in his hair, his legs out to the sides, one bent up towards his chest.

Moving gently, he pressed into Dean with the tip of his finger making sure to watch Dean's face. Other than successive blinks, he held still. Cas' single finger was gripped tight, Dean unconsciously resisting him. He was thankful they had all day, because whether Dean would ever admit to it or not, he needed Cas to go slow. Not from fear of pain, of course Dean would have to know that he would never hurt him, but more to keep the moment from getting lost to the past.

Kissing Dean's face all-over, stupidly coaxing a smile from the man, he continually stroked his finger in and out until Dean began to press down for more. Only when Dean glared at him did Cas nudge in a second finger, kissing Dean's parted lips.

When he got to the point of easing three inside, he asked to be kissed, offering his neck. Dean mouthed at the base of his throat, muffling a low groan, as Castiel twisted all three fingers in a screwing motion, feeling Dean loosen and squeeze around him.

" _Uhhn_ … _fuck_ _…_ " Dean strained under him, moving restlessly on the bed.

Going slow might be necessary, not to mention incredible for a number of reasons, one of those being the sight of Dean unfocused and aroused beneath him, but Dean wasn't the only one affected. Castiel ached, verging on uncomfortable, feeling strung-out, his skin prickly with overwrought sensation.

Easing his fingers free, he looked at Dean. "I cannot begin to tell you how much I've wanted this. But more importantly, I love you."

Dean cleared his expression, leaving nothing but rapture. "Oh, fuck, I love you too, Cas. So goddamned much…"

Castiel basked in the intensity of Dean's attention while he doused himself in slippery liquid. The precipice of the next step hung between them. With an unsteady breath, he moved down, his weight settling onto over-heated skin, slick with a sheen of sweat, his elbows moving to rest in the pillow beside Dean's ears.

They were nose-to-nose, holding onto the build-up; a palpable mixture of nerves and want.

Clenching his ass, he shifted his hips back and down, his cock moving smoothly against Dean's cleft, sliding between his cheeks.

"Let me." Dean reached around and grabbed Castiel, guiding him. The head of his cock pressed hot against the already slicked entrance. Dean's hand moved, feeling his way down to where they teased each other with the build-up. For a few seconds, they hovered on the edge of the act, pressing together, barely feeling the start of him sinking in.

Dean's fingers curled around the tip and tried to urge things along. Worry made Castiel hold back, searching Dean's eyes for full permission.

The green eyes that shone up at him were full of love, and need, and absolute trust.

Finding his voice, he said, "Being with you is the only heaven I care about."

Slowly, giving in to the moment, he pushed inside, inch after inch, with Dean's hand stroking up his length as it got pushed out of the way by their bodies coming together.

The pressure around his cock, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being buried inside Dean made him shake. And the best part? Knowing Dean wanted him this way.

" _Hmph_ , you feel, um, snug and very, _very_ good," he breathed, his voice raspy. Burying his face into the crook of Dean's neck, he had to take a moment, to feel nothing but this. He could feel his own pulse beating through his cock, and the thickness of his sex stretching Dean, his body straining to claim more of the man he loved.

/\/\/\

That first second that Dean truly felt Cas' girth spread him open, sliding in steadily, his mind detoured to red tainted memories. But it was no more than an instant, there and gone without his full awareness.

Holding his breath the rest of the way, he exhaled when Cas hit home, relishing the feel of the slick sweat and warmth of their groins coming flush together. Best of all, was Cas' expression, screaming: _Oh-god, Oh-god,_ in the most beautiful way—forehead all scrunched up, upper teeth biting into a plump, pink lip.

"Dean," Cas warned. "Do. _Not_. Move." The words gritted through his teeth.

Knowing that Cas was already close to losing it gave Dean a measure of confidence, loosening the tension that had built with that first thrust. Remembering how much of a tease he once was, he squeezed his ass around the intrusion. Cas' cock hardened in him, blue eyes going wide. A quick hand fumbled to clutch his hip. "Ahh, I'm serious Dean…we've waited a very long time for this, I'd rather it not be over in three seconds."

"I think you're up to twenty now, if that means anything."

They both laughed. Cas kissed him sloppily with a disgruntled moan. "Stop, I'm trying to make love to you."

"Then get on with it." Dean smirked and pulled his legs further back.

Cas took one quick look down and growled. The sound shot straight down to Dean's prominent erection, jumping up as he reacted. "Oh, fuck…"

Holding his face for a kiss, Cas rocked into him; once, twice, again and again. The base of his shaft wide enough that Dean felt overwhelmingly invaded.

Defenseless, his brain screamed at random.

Just like that, the fear crept through him. Dean's heart rate doubled; panic trying to overtake him. He fought against it, forcing himself to take deeper breaths. That shit was supposed to help, right? God, he didn't need this now. Cas was perfect. They were fucking meant for each other.

To keep calm, and hoping not to ruin this, he fixated on Castiel, on his savior. Dean kissed him, scratched his head, scraping his nails over the long line of the angel's back as he arched into each thrust, filling Dean thickly.

God, Cas was big… Not quite as long as Dean was, but definitely thicker.

Needing more to ground himself, he spread his knees wider, bringing his feet up to rub the sides of Cas' body; his hips and his thighs, and all around. Utilizing his bowlegged nature to full capacity.

The heavy weight on top of him rode slow against his ass, spearing into him with measured thrusts. In, out. In, out. In, in, in.

Panic building, Dean tried in vain to engage himself. Concentrating as hard he could, he focused on the touch he was dishing out instead of what Cas was doing with those hips and that thick cock taking his body. Dammit, he didn't want to ruin this.

Please, please, not now, he begged.

The minutes feeling endless, Dean failed to stay sane. Cas' movements were too intense, too much of a distraction. As the fear claimed him, he froze, losing control of everything. Laying there, feeling Cas stroke into him with such predictable timing, slow and even, pushing in, stretching him. The pace never slowed, it never sped up, it never stopped. It never stopped. Oh god…

Every time the cock slid out to the tip, Dean tried to steal a breath, tried to regain a feeling of autonomy, but then like clockwork, he was being filled again. Again, and again, and again. The unrelenting pressure building, the slow piston barreling into him. She never stopped, it never stopped. It would never stop.

 _No, no, no, Dean pleaded as that familiar arm that ended in claws gripped around his chest. Abaddon ignored his objection and crooned instead. The thing she called a pet was an actual eight-foot monster that terrified Dean nearly more than the delusions she created for him. Though he knew it was coming, Dean still tried to force the body no longer under his command to twist away. But it didn't, and the creature's slimy, thick thing slithered into him. As it seated itself, sharp barbs along its shaft punched out to lock them together for however long this time would last. Abaddon petted the thing as it pulsated inside of him, each hairbreadth of movement filled with fiery pain._ _The agony seared up his spine; the actions too hard, and too deep as the thing grew inside until it came. No, no, nononono_ _…_ _he begged, knowing the finish was the worst. The bitch laughed through his pain_ _._ _Loving it. Her laugh shooting out in the deep timbre of his own voice_ _—_ _a cruel mockery. Then, like always, for her perfect high, she forced an ejaculation from him, leaving his body in chaos_ _…_

"Dean!?"

Hearing his name shouted at him, Dean whipped back to the present with a plummeting sensation. Only seconds had passed, but Cas was there, petting his face and wildly searching his eyes. Cas kept asking if he was okay, and where he'd gone…

Nodding in quick jerky movements, Dean couldn't find his words. Still trapped in the waking nightmare, he tried to breathe through it. _Just relax…you're cool. You're okay._

In all honesty, the flashback didn't surprise him; he'd been kind of expecting it. The moment he'd known where this night would lead, he'd already resigned himself to the possibility that he'd have some kind of freak out. Didn't mean he didn't feel bad about it though. The horror on Cas' face just piled on the guilt. It wasn't Cas' fault that Dean was still fucked up. Honestly, he'd probably never be… _normal_. If he ever was to begin with, he reminded himself.

He met Cas' pained eyes. "Relax, _please_ , it's nothing, I promise." Dean squeezed the back of his neck.

Castiel hesitated, blue eyes squinting, shifting focus to different points on his face. Dean placed his hands over Cas'. "Kiss me."

That beautiful, familiar face fell, awash with regret. Realizing it would have to be him to take this forward he leaned up, capturing Cas' mouth, and moving his legs to squeeze around Cas' waist, crushing him in a full-bodied hug.

The lips he kissed didn't budge, didn't let him in, but he kept licking across them, kept moving his body in waves, trying to coax Cas back into the moment. At least he wasn't trembling anymore, that had to help his case.

He worked at the stony resolve he felt in Cas' rigid form, throwing in a prayer too.

 _It was never going to be perfect, Cas_ _…_ _Not after what happened. But if you stop now, that's all I'll remember, that I failed you_ _—_

"Dean…" Cas squashed their faces together, breathing heavily on top of him. Dean could feel his erection slipping out as it softened. It killed Dean that he was ruining this.

"C'mon, _babe_ …" he smiled through the humiliation. "Show me some lovin'." Goddamn, he needed Cas to continue, he couldn't bear it if they stopped now.

Cas smiled dimly, eyes closing as he pushed the hair off his forehead. "You need to talk to me, okay?"

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "I promise."

Watching Dean carefully, Cas licked his lips and pressed his hips down, keeping himself inside. Dean moaned more for encouragement than from impulse. _That's it, c'mon babe, keep going._ Fuck, he wanted this bad. Fully, one-hundred-and-a-million percent. It just sucked that he couldn't control the detours his brain would take. They'd have to power through.

It took a bit for Cas to get all the way hard again, but Dean helped it along by sucking at his neck, rubbing down his back and smoothly groping over the curve of his ass. This was a push because after what memories he still had of the things he'd done, _touching_ Cas there still flipped the switch on a lid of memories he knew he couldn't handle just yet.

Slowly but surely, they were moving together again. The cycle of being empty and then full didn't frighten him this time. As long as he focused on Cas' eyes and face, he could handle it. The flip of reality didn't shift—at least not bad enough that Cas noticed—when he made sure to keep in the moment, to separate the good feeling of Cas gliding in and out, from the subtle association of things that had also gone on for him.

It helped that Cas was so damn good, going slow and not changing the pace significantly without explicit fore-warning: "Dean, I'm going to go a bit faster," or "Can I hold here a moment…" But mostly, the way he moved captivated Dean. There was no frenzied thrusting, or pounding into him, but grinding of hips, twisting, and rocking. A lot of tender touches and proprietary strokes that was all about love.

One of Cas' arms had settled behind his head, the other lower to hold his face still, making sure Dean could always find him close. The palm against his cheek grounded him, just the same as those blue eyes did.

There was no one else he trusted more in that moment. Scrunched up under Cas' significant presence, with his legs bent back, arms secured around Cas' sweaty neck, the weight of the angel pressing on him, Dean felt safe giving himself over this way.

Castiel rounded his hips, thrusting deep, giving Dean the sensation that Cas was working into him, slowly, bringing them together more and more. The movements were so teasingly slow that the passion of it overwhelmed him to the point that he thought he might cry.

"Dean…talk to me."

Rolling his hips, he groaned, "Don't stop…my god, don't stop."

The flood of tears nearly brimmed over, and he had to brace himself against it, not wanting to give Cas the wrong idea about why he was weeping in the middle of sex. It'd be a little embarrassing to be like, ' _Oh, no, no flashbacks, just, ya know, your superb love-making is so damn incredible I want to weep like a child_ '. Except holding it in made his throat feel thick, and his chest tight, but he managed, only allowing a glisten of unshed tears to cloud his eyes.

"Kiss me," he pleaded. Cradling Dean's face, Cas did as he was asked, pushing Dean's lips apart and claiming the space between and inside him, stroking at his tongue, twirling with it. The slick sensation of having two parts of Cas taking him apart drove Dean to some unknown type of insanity. Not the way he'd been before, but something wilder in its own way.

Whimpering through his emotional overload, the word _forever_ foolishly banged around his skull. The feeling of Cas like this with him was too incredible not to want it to continue for the rest of his life, to have those blue caring eyes watch over him; The deepest of all his secrets—wanting, for once, to be the one that was looked after.

The air fought to move through his lungs, and Dean kept pausing the efforts for breath altogether. Starting, stopping, starting. Each rush of arousal peaking made him tense up all over. Then it would sink, and he'd find himself lost in the depth of Cas' eyes. The building crescendo of pleasure hit a steady plateau, not abating, not tipping over. It left him shivering, his pelvis throbbing, but release didn't come. The lingering of his cresting ecstasy drove him mad.

"Oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck…" he chanted, his vision distorted and hazy. Cas' hips thumped against his ass, the rolling penetrations sliding in and out, making his mouth dry. His bottom lip began to tremble, like an infant on the verge of tears, shaking and unable to stop.

"Uh, Fu-u-u-ck," he shaped the word around his unsteady breaths, and the curse sounded broken, not unlike himself.

Panting in ragged gasps, moaning with a feverish need, he lost any sense of composure. He dug his fingers into Cas' flesh: his back, neck, yanking at his hair, suddenly wanting Cas to fuck him raw. Dean was too turned on, feeling it so pure, that he was sure he could handle it.

Fuck the past, his body demanded Cas' presence the way it needed the next clench of his heart.

"No, Dean, not this time."

"Pleaaaase, fuck, Cas. I want-I need—"

Cas shushed him, leisurely rocking forward. Each time his ass came flush against Cas' hips, it sent tremors rippling out all over his body. No longer did the feeling of fullness bring on a nerve-wracking flashback, but instead, an absolute conviction that they belonged to each other.

Cas planted sweet kisses on his cheek and forehead. "Hold on to me," he said to Dean.

Despite his spaghetti limbs, he monkeyed himself around Cas' body and held on tight. Cas gripped around his back and hoisted them up—Dean's head swam—and rearranging them so that Cas was sitting back against the pile of pillows, with Dean seated in his lap, facing each other.

"Oh, _oohh_. Mm, yeah I like this." Seeking a different intimate touch, Dean brushed his cheek against Cas' face, nuzzling him, kissing down his neck, sucking at the skin right at the curve, feeling Cas shiver under him.

With Cas' help, he began moving up and down, legs trembling, feet planted for leverage, his hands gripping the headboard behind Cas shoulders. In this position, Cas brought a hand between them and held Dean's cock in his fist, squeezing up and down, thumbing over the head, watching Dean as he did this.

"You're stunning." Cas reached up to stroke his face. Dean could smell the thick scent of his sex on that hand. It gave him a dumb, perverted sense of belonging.

His brain buzzed from the continued touch of Cas' hand, head rolling on his shoulders. Every time his eyes fell shut in ecstasy, Cas guided him back, rubbing a finger over his eyebrow, or across the curve of his cheek, whispering, "Look at me," and it was all he needed.

It didn't take long to lose the ability to move up and down by himself, thighs quivering with exhaustion, the soles of his feet nearly cramping. He had no idea how long they'd been glued together, but his energy was about tapped.

Using angelic strength, Cas held his hips tightly with one hand and pumped into him from underneath with short thrusts, no space to pull all the way out. At random but alerted intervals, he'd hold Dean down, and then gripping his hips tight, move them in a swivel. The intense screwing, combined with Cas staring up at him, sent sparks ripping up Dean's spine. The pleasure ached, his pelvis full of liquid heat, the grip and pull of Cas' hand left his mouth gaping, needing air, but instead he was frozen, lungs still, letting the desire sweep through him, waiting for it to go over.

"Dean, breathe…" Cas let go of his cock to rub his chest, coaxing him to expand his lungs. He did, and it was shaky inhale, stuttering.

They continued to rock together on the bed, the building of heat and pleasure making them dizzy, sweat pouring off him, both their skin slick with it. Cas started to gasp for air too, especially when stretching up for a kiss. And Dean couldn't hold in the swell of needy moans and whimpers pouring from him, broken up with moments where he went still and stopped breathing, waiting.

Finally, he let go of the headboard and grabbed the back of Cas' head, pressing their sweaty foreheads together. "Fuck… _ahh-hh_ _…_ _ahh-hh_ _…_ _ahh-hh_ _,_ _"_ he repeated over and over again, staring hard into Cas' eyes, everything a blur around them. Blood rushed in his ears, heart pounding hard in his chest, his legs quaking, lip shaking.

Acutely, Dean felt the edge roar up on him, his body barreling towards release, cresting…

"Oh, oh, fuck… Cas! _Uhhn-mhhaa_ _…_ _ahh-hh_ _…_ _uhhnn_ _—_ " His eyes blasted wide-open, and a yell tore up from his throat as the first stream of come shot out of him. He felt his asshole spasm and it made him crazy. Delirious, he rode Cas hard as he came, each pulse making him shake from head to toe, convulsing in Cas' lap.

Cas held him together as he fell apart; kissing him through the savage orgasm, lips dragging over Dean's face, down his neck, rubbing back and forth over his shoulder. And then, at the end, right over his thumping heart.

Sated and mildly confused, he cupped Cas' face. "I can't move." But in some bizarre way he meant: _I love you_. 

Cas chuckled at him, the movement jostling Dean in his lap. "Feeling okay, though?" Castiel asked, his voice thick and rough like he needed a glass of water.

Dean smiled crookedly. "I think I just had a five minute orgasm—so yeah, feeling pretty awesome right now." And realizing what Cas had meant, he tapped his forehead. "S'all good." And he was. It was fantastic! Like a goddamn gift from God. Okay, maybe not God per se.

_Wait a minute..._

"Babe," he ran his fingers through Cas' damp hair, "did you come?"

Cas simply looked at him, his gaze full of simmering heat, and then Dean felt the thick cock harden inside his ass.

"Hmm, you wore me out and didn't finish? Well, we can't have that."

A bit wobbly, Dean climbed off. The over-sensation of his skin sent faint jolts through him, jarring enough that he nearly fell over. Cas laughed and steadied him as he clambered backwards, moving away from Castiel's legs to lay out on the open space of the bed.

And thankfully, the part of the bed _not_ dampened with their sweat and Dean's come, though most of it had landed on them. And holy crap had it been a lot.

Man, it was humid in here, Dean thought. No wonder he'd be finding the oxygen a little lacking. Of course the deliriously good sex probably had something to do with that. Sucking back a lungful, he got comfy, and then nervously rubbed over his skin. "Come here."

Cas' entire front was painted in streaks of Dean's release, and that he left it there, drying on him, made Dean really damn happy.

As his angel got up, moving over, he scooted down to Dean's feet and kissed his instep, dragging his open mouth up Dean's leg, sucking kisses at the inside of his thigh. Cas showed the same attention all over his stomach and chest, while slicking himself up with more lube and then reaching between his legs to finger him again.

By the time Cas sheathed himself inside, Dean was almost hard again, but too exhausted to get all the way there. He could see the beautiful strain on Cas' face, the force it took to hold himself off from finishing, obviously wanting to extend the moment for as long as he could.

"I want to feel you let go," Dean encouraged, clamping down.

" _Mmm_ …d-don't do that."

"Yes," he disagreed, doing it again. "I want you to come, Cas… I don't want to wait. I'm all yours, only yours, and I want to feel it, god, I'm dying to feel you come inside me. And then after I want us to friggin' cuddle and then sleep, for like, a year."

Cas' cock pulsed once, he blinked and then said, "That was, umm, _explicit_."

Dean scoffed. "But you liked it?"

Looking wholly surprised, Castiel licked his lips. "Yes…"

"See, I'm communicating successfully and telling you what I want. Healthy, right?" The lack of pressing arousal cleared his head, and Dean was able to fully utilize every power known to him to drive Cas crazy. Which is exactly what he did.

"Yes, you seem very clear-headed. I, however, am not." Cas emphasized his statement by licking his lips, his lids threatening to flutter over his eyes.

"Ok, go slow, but long strokes." This was the first of many instructions, and it worked for both of them. Even though Dean was the one in a vulnerable position still, he commanded every move. And Cas, the former soldier, seemed to get off on the instructions. It also gave Dean the ability to talk through it all and that helped a great deal.

After another ten minutes, when Cas starting to lose his rhythm, his face beet-red, whining Dean's name, Dean grabbed his face and kissed him hard, crushing them together.

Without letting go, lips still touching, he whispered, "Look at me and go hard. It's okay, I promise. Just keep looking at me. Move _only_ your hips… C'mon, let's finish this…let's finish you, Cas. _Come_ …nice and deep, okay?"

Dean could hardly breathe, he wanted it more than air. He needed this, but nerves made him tense, lower lip threatening to shake. He bit the stupid thing to stop it from giving him away.

Staring wildly into his eyes, Cas slammed into him—hips snapping hard and fast. Not breaking the intense link for even a millisecond. It barely lasted a minute before Cas went ominously still, and then began to shudder, shouting nonsense in bursts with the flood of his release.

Not once did his eyes leave Dean's. Even when it was obvious that the poor angel had a hard time keeping them open.

Dean loved every heated second of it. Cas had the hottest orgasm face: Features all twisted up, skin flushed red, eyes going wide and amazed, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. The view, along with the feeling of hot pulses way up there gave him pride. Slightly shocked, Dean realized that all that pleasure was because of him.

Near the end, Cas had been incredibly hard—impressively so, and Dean felt marked by the overwhelming presence, and the smell of Cas all over his skin.

When the roar of sex fizzled out of the room, Dean's remaining energy collapsed. Cas rubbed him down with a towel on his chest and between his legs. The blankets were fixed and Dean shoved under them. He was mumbling, but had no idea what. Just mumbling for the sake of making contented noises as Cas manhandled him into bed and then cuddled him. Their bodies were still too-warm and he groaned his frustration at the blankets, too tired to do anything about it.

Cas understood his grumbles and shoved the blankets down to his waist, allowing the cool air to flow unhindered over his skin.

Ahhh, sweet air…

He felt Cas play with his hair and kiss his shoulder, but he was nearly asleep, drifting in a drug-like way towards oblivion.

For the first time in a long time, he was bursting with a flood of fucking happiness and even if he died in his sleep, at least he'd had this.

/\/\/\

Castiel had not yet managed to catch his breath. As an angel, you'd think that would be easier. But Dean had driven him to the extent of his angelic control. Dean might not be aware, especially not now that he was passed out and beginning to snore, but they'd been making love for over four hours. It had been, unquestionably, the best four hours of his life. Seeing the way Dean trusted him, loved him, and opened himself up in every conceivable way was breathtaking.

All the images of the two of them curled up together, bodies rocking against each other, the way his sex sank into Dean clouded his mind as his energy continue to fade.

Absolutely spent, Castiel exhaled noisily and fell asleep to the sounds of Dean's heavy snores.

/\/\/\

"This isn't the end," Wrath stated.

The group of them, most of the Brotherhood, Sam, Jody and Crowley still, were in the room with the pool table off of the foyer. Drinks had flowed plentiful, and most everyone was excited, running high from the long fight. Sure, people were hurt, a lot dead, but the injured had been mostly patched up, all of them wearing white gauze in some way or another. There'd been tragedy, but also victory. However temporary, that counted for something.

Vishous had been sporting a long gash on the side of his face, but it had already healed to the point where it looked a week old instead of a few hours.

Sam's nose had been broken, but Lassiter drew on his limited powers to fix it. A lesser had broken Jody's arm, but she maintained that it was fine, and to stick her in a cast instead of wasting any more energy.

V glanced to Wrath. "No. We only pushed it back some. It's a waiting game now, but we need to keep on top of the lessers. Butch, my man, we're gonna have to work this prophecy bull-shit every night now."

Butch dipped his head. "I'm down."

Sam leaned against the ornate fireplace mantle, drink in hand, watching the discussions around him. As he took the last sip of his third drink, Vishous sauntered over.

"Some fight. You handle yourself well, Winchester."

"You guys are pretty damn good, too."

"Don't we know it!" V winked. "So, been meaning to ask you. Do you or Dean own anything like an angel blade? Like that same kinda metal?"

Dumbfounded, Sam wracked his brain. "Got some bullets made from it. But nothing else I know of. Why?"

The wheels in the vampire's head turned around easily enough for Sam to see. "I see things, you know? Did Cas ever mention it?"

Sam nodded, remembering the night he'd watched his brother break down into violent sobs.

"Back when I first met your brother, just a couple weeks after he got back from Hell, the Angel asked me to look into his future."

Shit. What would that've looked like?

"It's not like you might think. The images are always abstract. Poetic in their own twisted way, I guess."

"What'd ya see?"

V cast his eyes about the room before looking back at Sam, shifting in closer, his voice lowering. "Last night. I saw that—the blizzard, your brother—all of it. Some guitar strings—"

"—Hey! I gave Dean an acoustic just this past Christmas," he interrupted.

"I heard. Good on you. It was a great gift for him."

The pause after that told Sam there was one last thing. He feared it might have to do with the angel blades after all. Hopefully, it didn't mean that Dean would die by one.

"The one image…was only a flash of metal. A glint of it as light caught the curve of its surface."

Frowning, Sam said, "You think it was an angel blade?"

"The metal looked the same, but the shape was wrong. I got nothin' else to go on. My only advice to you is to keep an eye out. Be vigilant. The omega might've taken a hit tonight, but he knows Cas and your brother are the only way his tap of souls gets squandered. I wouldn't put it past them to try again."

"Good to know. And thanks—for watching out for my brother, and for Cas. I wasn't sure about you, but I am now. You've had their back, and that means if you ever you need—I've got yours."

"Ah shucks, human. Thanks. Now enjoy another drink and then take that badass woman of yours home, ya feel me?"

"You can count on it."

"Good deal. Later hunter."

Sam waved. Turning around to find where Jody was, he came face to face with a guy who had the kind of good looks that made even Sam question his heterosexuality for a split second. There was handsome…and then there was this guy.

"Let me top you up." The guy winked, blue eyes twinkling. Sam's glass was filled again and he said thanks, for the drink and the hospitality.

Jody slipped in beside him, starting up a conversation with the looker. Turns out his name was Rhage. Sam remembered him as the one who was cursed. This guy apparently went from movie-star handsome to Godzilla if he got angry enough. That would be cool to see. Through a viewing window of a bomb shelter, maybe.

After he took off, Jody turned and said, "My god, that guy's like…in your face hot. No offence."

Sam had to laugh. She was nothing if not direct. And in this case, she was absolutely correct.

"None taken. I agree with you."

"Oh, well aren't you all forward thinking manly man. Usually men won't admit if another guy's good looking."

"Most men are like my dad was…and Dean up until he went and fell head over heels for Cas."

"True." Taking another sip, Sam's eyes took stock of the room. Each pass of it showed him something new. The space was incredible. The pool table was incredibly high-end. The bar on the far side stocked to the nines. A giant TV adorned the wall to his far right. Everyone mingled around still but some couples had regrouped and slinked off to other parts of the mansion.

The King had offered them a room, but Sam decided that it was time to go home. Hopefully, after the long journey, Cas and Dean would be done…whatever it is they were currently doing that he tried to not picture.

Sam turned to Jody with a long sigh. The exhaustion was catching up on him. "You ready to go home?"

She groaned tiredly. "Yes… Oh, God, yes." She threw her uninjured arm around his neck; sagging against his chest.

"If it isn't too imposing, is there still a bed in the dungeon I can crash on?" Crowley asked, drink in hand walking over to them.

"Yeah, sure. It's all yours," Sam said to him.

After that, Vishous got them a car, and forced them to allow Fritz, the butler—Sam realized—to drive them back to the bunker.

The long road back was quiet; Sam ruminated over the events, felt Jody's warmth against him, her breaths long and even, sleeping as the asphalt passed under the tires.

Sam met Crowley's eyes. He mouthed a thanks in the silence of the car. Crowley's lip quirked, his chin dipped with acknowledgement. Their gaze held for a long moment; both wondering about the unspoken truth that was still a significant worry.

Eventually Crowley turned to the window, his expression forlorn, as his thoughts moved in a different direction.

Sam watched him, seeing the human emotions there. Pride struck him—Cale, with their help, managed to cure the King of Hell. And now Crowley was a hunter, sowing his oats. Complete with all the trappings of human emotion and frailty—both physical and mental. Whatever evil still brewed in the world, at least they'd done something right.

Sam bent down to kiss the top of Jody's head, inhaling the scent of blood and sweat. Fighting alongside her that night had felt really good.

 


	34. The Battle is Won, The War Goes On

The screaming and gunfire blasted from the TV turned loud. The cameraman shook, the image jumping, the only discernible shots were of a white-haired ferocious attacker wielding a gun, people running and screaming, absolute mayhem in the streets of New York.

" _Over the course of several days, the streets of New York have become a war-zone. A new gang of unknown origin have grown to such a significant presence that the cops have called in national troops to quell the threat. The people of New York have been told to stay in their homes until otherwise notified. A State of Emergency has been declared._

_This new attack on America, we are not yet clear if it is derived from internal unrest_ _—_ _a domestic concern_ _—_ _or if this has roots in known terrorist factions form elsewhere in the world. The authorities are being vague and uncooperative, which begs the question_ _—_ _How much do they actually know about this sudden violence overtaking our streets?"_

Jody clicked off the TV, killing the sound of the anchor woman's serious tone. They'd all seen enough. One battle won, but there seemed to be no stopping the surge of the undead. Endless pandemonium polluted the human world over the last few days. Military vehicles were all over the place. Gun-fire had become a common day occurrence in American cities. Good people were dying, and not just humans, but the fight had gotten so big that all creatures and monsters they'd fought over the years were starting to come out of the woodwork. It would only get worse from here.

"Fuck, it got bad fast," Sam noted. In one quick week since the battle, the greater fight had escalated to fucking mayhem.

"No shit." Jody and Crowley muttered in sync. They were all in various states of shock and what was happening to the world. Sam, at least, had had enough.

Scowling, he turned to the once King. "We have to tell Dean."

"We can't," he protested in his thick British accent. The former King continued in a commanding whisper, "Whether or not your damaged brother makes with the nuptials with the little kitten has to be _his_ choice! If you tell him, you'll bugger it all up! So keep your bloody mouth shut!"

This is bullshit, Sam thought. What the fuck kind of God would make this the solution to fixing Heaven and by extension ending this war? Dean might be a hell of a lot better, but Sam knew better than anyone—maybe even better than Cas—what Dean had gone through and truth is, his brother was still more than a little screwed up. Who could blame the guy!?

But, c'mon, how bad will it have to get, he wondered? Are they so ready to let the world go to shit for the sake of waiting for something that may never happen? And yeah, maybe telling Dean was a bad idea— _maybe._ But was even trying to talk to him about it, even in a vague sense, really all that detrimental?

Aggravated by Crowley, Jody, and Cas all pushing back on his stance, Sam had left the room not long after and spent the day reading some books to try and figure things out, but by the afternoon the nagging urge to talk to Dean wouldn't go away.

Easing up from his chair, he headed towards the stairs with purpose. All the potential ways to broach this topic beginning to drum up in his mind. Maybe he wouldn't tell Dean everything, but he could at least feel the guy out, get a sense of how fucked they really might be. But when he eventually approached the gym doors, he was dumbstruck by the sound that was drifting through.

Not only did the work on the guitar sound not half bad, but Dean's voice…

Sam had never heard him sing like that before. It made him wonder about all the other times Dean had sang off-key in the car. Because in this moment, Dean's voice was beautiful. The tone was low and smooth, shaping around the ebbs and flows of the Metallica song. As the words reached his ears, Sam fell back against the wall of the hallway, craning his neck closer to let it all settle over him.

He realized, standing there listening to his older brother do something wonderful, that maybe this wasn't the Dean he grew up with. Maybe this wasn't the Dean that had purged himself of horrors on Sam's bedroom floor.

Somewhere during his recent suffering, Dean had become a different man. The recovery had changed him, and now, more than ever, Sam really saw it. The self-hate was gone, the arrogance a little subdued, and there was a peace about Dean that Sam had never seen before.

Maybe, he thought with building hope, they weren't so screwed after all.

/\/\/\

_Five days earlier_ _…_

Dean woke up feeling heavy and _alive_. The air flowing into his lungs felt fresh, his heart seemed complacent, calmer than it had in months.

Cracking his eyes open slowly, he smiled at the first thing he saw. Cas was lying beside him, propped up by his elbow, watching Dean with a dim smile.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" he croaked.

Cas' pleasant smile grew, crinkling around the corners of his eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

Turning his thoughts inward, he searched out whether he could recall any dreams or nightmares. But he found nothing, so he stretched, cataloging the joints that cracked and the muscles that ached, and paid special attention to the awareness that Cas had been in him the night before and grinned happily. "Slept great actually. What time is it?"

"Late. Sometime after dinner, I think."

Oh Lord in Heaven— _FOOD_!

"I am so hungry, oh my god!" To make the point more pronounced, his stomach grumbled. He shifted and the pressure spiked lower. "And I need to use the washroom. And drink a gallon of water." Running his tongue over his teeth, Dean made a face and longed for some toothpaste and his toothbrush. The bedroom stank of sweat and come, and with the state of his hygiene and empty belly, all Dean could think of was getting a reboot on all his systems.

That is until Cas got this look in his eye. It was all very: _Hey baby_ and Dean really liked it. It made him feel wanted, and the ease with which Cas seemed to accept him and his body despite what it had been through was enough to make Dean feel a little less dirty.

Scooting over to get nice and close, Cas captured his face gently, lowering to kiss him. Hyper aware of his morning breath, Dean kept his lips nice and shut. Lucky bastard and his angel-y-ness never needing to worry about these things. Though, thinking that, Dean felt a twinge in his heart, knowing that deep down he wished they were the same. Despite his efforts to save Cas from his morning grossness, the man was relentless, teasing his lips with tongue, plying at him and Dean let him have his way, hoping he didn't taste gnarly.

Cas delved in without pause, moaning against him, tongue pressing against his as their bodies began to respond to each other. Putting other needs aside, he let himself be held and kissed and touched. Everything felt awesome and normal until Cas straddled his naked body, and his cock hardened instantly with the proximity of Cas' ass. The fucking thing should know better than to think Dean was gonna let it have that.

With no forewarning, Dean pushed Cas off. "Sorry, but uh, can't do that…not yet. I-I'm…just, yeah, need some time on that front." Not to mention the fact that he really had to piss. And then eat, and brush his teeth, and generally get himself back to feeling like a somewhat normal human being.

Cas brushed a hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back to kiss Dean's forehead. "I understand." Cas got up.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked. Just because they weren't doing _that,_ didn't mean he was done feeling Cas up.

"Food? Washroom?" Cas raised a brow at him.

Oh, right. Yeah, do that first… And then maybe come back in here and log some healthy sexual experiences that he could tell Sam about later, or maybe now that was weird. Maybe their little talks were bounded only by the bad and the things he couldn't live with alone, the memories threatening to rip him to shreds from the inside out. How would Sammy react if he blabbed on about he and Cas getting all touchy-touchy? If nothing else, he kind of wanted to ask Sam's opinion on his mind's mid-coitus memory discharge. Fuck, did he ever hope that would dial down a notch.

Thoughts on his recovering mental faculties, Dean pulled on jogging pants, socks, and a t-shirt and wandered down the hall, trying not to smile, but failing. The bunker was quiet, and he suspected Sam and Jody had to be back some time soon, if they weren't already. At least he'd seen them near the end of the fight, both a little battle-worn, but alive.

He still wasn't one-hundred-percent on what the hell had happened. One day this new evil starts kicking up a fuss and the next it's all-out war. He suspected he'd need some time to sit down with Sam and talk through it all. Cas too, of course.

The whole past two and a half days were a blur for Dean. Starting bad, getting worse, but ending pretty awesome. Having learned this lesson many times over, he didn't dare hope the good times would last.

When they'd exited their room, Cas had veered the other way down the hall, saying he'd get some food together. Dean headed into the bathroom, feeling like a different man. Staring into the mirror, he focused on his own eyes, flashing back to the memory from months ago of seeing them go black. That whole night had been a fucking train-wreck, some of it standing out in striking clarity and the rest of it a discomforting blur. Bracing his hands on the edges of the sink, Dean leaned in closer, getting personal with his own reflection.

Maybe it was time, he thought, to get rid of that lengthy mane that was sticking up in a mad scientist kind of way, one section plastered to his temple, still mussed from the bed. And that beard, too. Cas had trimmed it pretty good, but it was still quite a bit longer than he used to keep it. He'd never be the same man he was, but looking like that guy again wouldn't be so bad. And besides, the biggest difference of all was marked up on his skin and that was more than enough to carry him onward.

Scratching absently along his scruff, he finally shrugged to himself and snatched his toothbrush from the cup it sat in and got on with the brushing. Brushing his teeth with one hand, Dean stepped over to the toilet, flipped the seat up and did that business too, lessening his overall time in the bathroom, eager to have Cas back in his sights. The fact that he was literally peeing and brushing simultaneously simply so he could have an extra thirty seconds with the person he pretty well shared a room with now was arguably pathetic. That being said, Dean was not the same man he'd once been. And this version himself didn't give a crap about being a teensy bit needy.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, having detoured on the way to his room to throw on some deodorant, he was starving. Cas was already there, getting to work on breakfast foods.

"I know it's well past dinner, but I thought you might like breakfast foods: fried potatoes, eggs, and bacon," said Cas. Oh, how well you know me, he thought.

Dean walked over in his sock-feet to stand behind Cas at the stove, flipping bacon. The spitting grease didn't seem to bother him. It was yet another reminder that Cas wasn't the same as he was. Dean wondered why this was starting to bother him so much more than it used to as he pulled Cas' back against him and kissed the inner curve of his neck. "I don't deserve you," he said against the extra-warm skin.

"I'm getting tired of you saying shit like that… Dean, you need to accept that I'm here, and with you, and that we're in this together now." As he spoke, he emphasized his points by gesticulating with the spatula. It was fucking adorable.

Dean grinned, nodding against his shoulder, and kissed him once more before drawing away to get plates ready.

When they were halfway through eating, he looked up. "Hey, um, can you mojo me a haircut?"

On the opposite side of the table, Cas glanced up with a half a kiwi slice sticking out of his mouth, his finger pushed it all the way in and Dean had a random desire to be that piece of kiwi. After he swallowed, he said, "I suppose. Why now?"

"It's time, I guess." Taking a bite of toast, Dean tried to act nonchalant about it. As if finally looking on the outside the way he'd been before would be some monumental indication that his recovery was complete—when in reality, there was no end to recovering from what he'd been through. Maybe everything he'd ever been through was all still there. Fuck, maybe that was why he'd been so messed up before all this anyway! There were more notions and discussions he wanted to have with his brother. So much introspection going on inside Dean Winchester these days, and if he learned nothing else, he knew not talking about shit was a bad way to go.

Even with his lacking explanation, Cas seemed to accept it without further scrutiny. Once the kitchen was set back in order, dishes cleaned and put away, Cas reached out and touched his cheek and all at once his minor beard growth and floppy hair abruptly vanished, leaving him feeling clean and trim, more put-together than he'd felt in a long while.

The abrupt change made him shiver. "That felt weird," he said. Cas reached back to scratch through the shorter hair and Dean's eyes fell shut. "Okay, _that_ feels great."

"You really love being touched, I wish I'd known before all this…before St. Louis. I would have been there for you the way you needed."

"Cas, no offence, but I would've shut you down before. You know me."

Cas lowered his head. "That may be true, but I think I could've been very persuasive." As he said the last word, he gave Dean a sultry look, staring up from behind his lashes.

Leaning into Cas' warmth, Dean captured his mouth and slipped his hands just under the hem of Cas' t-shirt, his fingers skirting across the silky skin.

"You are very persuasive," he said against the side of Cas' neck, his nose skimming up towards the edge of his ear.

"Can I persuade you to come back to our room for a bit?"

Nuzzling against Cas' earlobe, letting his tongue skim the inner curve, Dean answered with the push of his body, moving them both towards the open archway of the kitchen.

A couple hours later, they met up with Sam in the library, having taken time in between to head back into bed and feel each other up. No full-on intercourse, just stroking each other lazily to completion. The incredible release was achieved with Dean on top, rolling his body over Cas, their hands gripped around the familiar weight of each other. He came after Cas did, staring into his eyes, loving the thick moist air that their actions made in the bedroom, leaving it rank with their mixed scent.

After the shudders ended, Dean slid down and licked up every bit of their release, mostly plastered on Cas' chest and stomach. Hell had left him with a perverted sense of things, and he found guiltless pleasure, even solace, in the taste of them in his mouth.

Now, sitting around the map-table, Dean was in the midst of telling everyone—Crowley and Jody included—what had happened. From the stomach-dropping moment of being ripped out of the car he'd taken, to finding himself in the company of a black, evil, thick smoke monster known as the Omega, and a lesser. He skipped over the beating, and the overwhelming discomfort in the way the Omega had touched him, not sexually, but like he'd been claiming ownership. It was too close to the way Abaddon had made him feel, and he decided, seeing as he wasn't with only Sam, the details were unnecessary.

He did explain the process of what the Omega had done, infecting him with what felt like the pure essence of evil, like a cold or virus creeping through his veins.

Cas didn't seem to enjoy this part much, staring at Dean without blinking—clearly upset about what had happened.

"…And then in the field up there, this Goddess chick came and kinda zapped the Omega back to some place called _dhund_?" Dean looked to Cas for explanation.

"It's another dimension, separate from Hell, but no less horrific."

"Yeah, so, she wrapped me in a blinding, hot light and it seemed to clean me out of whatever sick crap he'd shoved down my throat. And that shit…man, it was...I don't even know how to describe it. With Abaddon," Dean paused to swallow, "it was like being filled with polluted lava, but this…" He sucked back a breath. "Man, I've never felt that hollow before… I think if it weren't for you all showing up for me…I might have ended up the army corporal that douche-face had wanted. It's evil, but it's less obvious, which is a lot fuckin' scarier. Anyway, thank god for that supernova goddess."

"She's called the Scribe Virgin. The Omega's sister. Think of the two like Michael and Lucifer, in a way. Except I hold her in far higher esteem than I would have Michael."

Dean snorted. "Some family."

"Indeed," Cas agreed.

Sam turned towards Cas with a hostile glare. "So, what now?" he asked icily.

The uncomfortable presence in the air was such that Dean realized there was still a secret clouded over their own family. One that Dean knew nothing of, and allowed Cas to keep to himself. But that wasn't necessary any longer. He was ready for whatever else might be lurking below the surface of all this shit.

" _Now_ , we keep fighting the lessers. They'll be more. It won't stop."

Sam's jaw clenched. "It could, if we found a way to close up Heaven." His brother's tone alluded that he already knew. And the way those hazel eyes were shooting daggers at Cas made Dean's protective instincts get all in a fluster, which was heavily confusing since he normally felt that way towards Sam.

"Sam, this isn't the time." Crowley interjected. Now this, _this_ , had Dean's interest.

"Guys, what the hell's going on?" Dean turned and grabbed Cas' arm, curling his fingers around the muscle. "Talk to me… I can handle it."

"You said you trusted me," Cas uttered, modestly offended.

"I do. But what does that matter? Weren't you just keeping quiet to, like, protect me or whatever?"

"Well, yes, but not in the way you think."

"Maybe we should go." Jody said, pulling Sam up out of his chair.

"But—"

"No, Sam… this doesn't involve us. C'mon…" Between her and Crowley, they convinced Sammy to leave. The two brothers shared looks with each other as they were physically separated, and Dean was left more confused than ever.

"Dean, now, more than ever, I need your trust," Cas continued. "Please believe that I know what I'm doing. You'd understand if you knew, but God—"

"God what? Cas?"

It was a while before Cas decided to answer him. "Okay… There _is_ undeniably a way to fix Heaven for good," Cas stated, forming his words precisely.

"And that is?"

"It's complicated."

"Hey, if we can stop all this," Dean waved vaguely in the air, "we have to."

"I know, Dean. But it isn't that simple. What must happen is completely out of my control. The only solution to fixing Heaven is something that must come about naturally, without influence, without sway one way or another."

"I don't understand," he admitted.

"I know—you won't until the end. If we get there." _We_?

"Cas, why am I getting the impression that we're somehow in the eye of this freaking hurricane?" Man, his dream-visit with God definitely seemed more and more damning. First the Omega coming for him, _specifically him_ , and then all this—whatever the hell it is.

"Suffice to say God's plan for you did not end with being Michael's vessel." Whoomp, there it is, thought Dean, quoting some Tag Team.

"Awesome," he snidely commented. "`Cause I sure haven't been through enough! What other awful thing are they gonna force on me, huh?"

Castiel instantly recoiled. Christ, it looked like Dean had slammed him with a two-by-four.

"What?" he asked, unfazed.

Cas shifted back, his face unreadable. "Nothing. Um, I should go and check on things." He paused. "You know—out there." Gesturing with his thumb towards the door, Cas practically leapt out of his chair.

"Hey, wait. What'd I say?"

Already, Cas was at the stairs. Dean jumped out of his chair and rushed over, reaching for that stiff body and spinning him back around. Cas looked utterly tortured, his face full of a wide array of emotions: guilt, pain, sorrow…and fear.

"I need to know." Dean held Cas' eyes, forcing him to expose his emotions for Dean's raking assessment.

"For right now," Cas sighed gravely. "Please, _please_ just tell me you love me…"

The fear and desperation unfolding in Cas' demeanor nearly broke Dean. He threw his arms firmly around Cas' shoulders, feeling the angel sink against his front and squeeze him back, holding on with more than human strength.

Shit, he could hardly breathe with the boa-like wrap of Cas around him. But even so, he turned to Cas' ear, "I love you, Cas. I love you. Never, _ever_ doubt that. Ever. You hear me?" Whatever this secret was that Cas was so damn protective of must be big-time for him to be reacting this way.

Still crushing around his torso, Cas barely acknowledged him, turning his face into Dean's neck and, fuck—was that a sniff? Was Cas fuckin' crying?

"Hey, hey, don't worry about anything. I'm sure it will all work out. We have each other, and for now that's enough." Even though he said the words, Dean wasn't one-hundred percent on that. The knowledge that Cas held the secret to fixing heaven, and that it somehow involved Dean, and no one would fucking tell him what the hell it was nearly drove him crazy with aimless guilt. But goddammit he would say just about anything to make those tears stop.

The comfort he offered didn't seem to make a dent in Cas' sudden distress anyway. The more he spoke, the more Cas seemed to squeeze him harder, and bury his face more into the skin of his throat. The sniffs turned to the unmistakable sounds of crying and Dean's heart splintered.

Fuck it! Cas could keep the damn secret! But somehow, someway Dean would figure out how to make it right. There was no way he wanted to feel Cas' hitching sobs against him ever again.

/\/\/\

_Back in the present_ _…_

The fear in the back of Dean's mind had crippled him over the last week. He'd hid it well, but each day, the reality that it, once again, all rested on him, was such a crushing weight. Especially adding on the need to set things right for the simple purpose of keeping Cas happy.

He avoided the others in favour of spending time on his own in the gym, or playing the guitar. Returning to the pastimes that brought him sanity as they once did. It was better than seeing Cas' dejection, though he tried to hide it since that first day back, Dean was too tuned into him now.

Ironically, each night, he found himself praying to God. A last ditch effort, maybe. Cas didn't hear these prayers. Because they weren't meant for him. Not anymore. The only prayers that Cas would get from him were ones not based in desperation or need, but love and praise. One said with his lips over Cas' skin, or quiet words said to him and him alone.

Dean didn't want to be like he was before. Way back, before he died and went to heaven, he'd been on a path to make himself a better man. Better for his brother, better for Cas. That path was still before him, and he'd felt as much when he'd looked in the mirror earlier that week. Cas deserved his respect, and Dean vowed never to use him again. To always put him first. To make him feel loved the way he deserved.

With that in mind, since the following day of their return, he didn't ask about the secret kept from him. He forced himself to trust. Much to Sam's evident dismay.

But damn, that trust thing was a new feeling. Dean considered himself light-years better than he was a mere month ago, but with the grounding of his personality, of himself, he felt a push to revert to the way he once was—the pull to be the Dean Winchester everyone knew of. To lock everyone out and power through life the way he always had.

But look where that had gotten him.

Dean picked at the guitar; first the high 'e', then both the high and low 'e's' simultaneously, followed by an ascending set of three notes. It's the one song he'd been focused on since he started. It was like the whole of it was lodged in his heart, trying to scrape its way out. So he spent every free minute, trying to learn the whole thing to perfection.

The slow pattern of sound that rolled softly through the room was pacifying. And it was in stark contrast to what he knew was going on beyond the walls.

_A lesser raced down the darkened road, not the alley_ _—_ _as was past preference_ _—_ _but the right middle of the street. Knife out and waiting for a target. Police sirens wailed in the distance. The war was beyond vampires now. He and others attacked, relishing in the screams of vampire civilians and pops of gunfire rupturing from the vampire's weapons, chasing after them. The lessers fired back, clipping frantic humans in the process, trying to flee the area to fight another day._

Sitting in the corner of the gym, Dean continued to play, letting the sound wash over him. He closed his eyes, feeling through the opening of the song, no longer needing to follow his fingers with his eyes.

_The sirens screamed louder, lights flashed in pulses over the black of the street. The entire public realm smelled of gunfire and blood. The boom of the police shotguns blasted through the lesser's chest, littering him with holes. Yet he still lived. For it was mighty hard to kill the dead. He smiled and turned around, black blood leaking from his chest. Lifting his weapon, he pulled the trigger, and the cop went down. A hail of bullets assaulted him, immobilizing the lesser. But his comrades were already arriving from everywhere, sneaking in from the sides_ _…_ _And then it was just bodies crashing against bodies in brutal chaos._

The singular notes of the riff swelled with the eclipse of the first full chords that Dean strummed as the song took off, and for the first time in a really long time, he sang, "So close, no matter how far, couldn't be much more from the heart…"

_Laying next-to-dead on the cold ground of late spring, the lesser laughed. A vampire, the one with the beautiful hair, dropped to one knee. The vamp spoke some ancient language, and then pierced him through with the knife. His essence, a non-soul, a dark force, sprung back to the Omega, melding once more into his Master._

Gaining confidence with how much he'd learned, Dean's voice and the heavy feel of the music came together, a harmony of the song, of his self. "Never opened myself this way… Life is ours; we live it our way… All these words I don't just say… And nothing else matters."

_Phury and the other brothers, with Lassiter and two angels he didn't know, stood in the grim remains of what was once a bustling street. The lessers were dead, but so were the human cops, and both human and vampire civilians. The cop's radio still blasted a voice from the station. It was the only sound left in the street. One of the angels, a woman with red hair, waved her hand in the air to quell the nuisance. "The world is falling, my Lord." Phury said to Wrath, standing to his left_ _—_ _forced from his Kingly duties to fight with them._

When the song was done, the sharp silence of the room unnerved him. He could feel the unrest of the world in his bones. Whether that was instinct or some leftover extra sense from all the weird his soul had been through, who knew. But it didn't matter.

Could he really sit idly by? Was it only about trusting Cas?

/\/\/\

Sam pushed Jody's legs further apart, burying himself between them, his face pressed against the wet core of her, his tongue getting down to business with long strokes and flicks. She moaned and urged his head harder against her.

Reaching out to hold her body still, he continued to devour her, parting her arousal-swollen lips with his tongue.

Sucking her scent and taste into his mouth, he knew no one else would ever compare. He swiped his tongue up her slit, flicking around the bud and then down, pressing with an insistent pattern, getting faster and harder, his tongue straining as it slipped around her wetness.

Her fingernails dug into his scalp, closing in to yank at handfuls of his hair and he knew she was close. In that moment, he was also very grateful that Cas had healed her arm when they'd gotten back. Her moans got louder and more guttural, more wild. Wanting to give her an extra high as she rode over, he moved his hand between her legs and teased his finger from her opening to her ass, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted.

She most certainly did not…

Jody yelled, smashed his face hard against her core and then came. Amazingly, with the tip of his finger just past the ring of muscle, having used her own slick to ease the way, he could feel her throbbing through the orgasm. He smiled against her, kissed the inside of her thigh, gave a few teasing licks over her clit to make her shudder, and then slid up over her body and pressed his cock into her.

"Fuuucck! _SAM_!"

He groaned at the hot feeling of her still clamping around him. Grasping her shoulder to make sure she didn't move up on the bed like last time and hit the headboard, he rutted hard, hinging at his hips and driving into her with every ounce of passion he had.

"Shit, you feel good," he breathed, covering her face with hot kisses, running his open mouth over the length of her neck. Nipping gently against the base, letting the light scruff of his unshaved face rub over the sensitive skin.

"Geez, Sam…you're going…crazy. Fucking love it," she praised, throwing her arms and legs around him and holding on tight while he let go.

His brain started to hum with pleasure, his body tensing up, his balls pulling in towards himself. Reaching back and down, he pushed his hand under her ass and grabbed a handful of her buttcheek and smiled at her.

Biting her lower lip, she smiled back and kissed him. And still, they continued to fuck like horny teenagers. Though he was rough with her, she liked it that way.

"Fuck, Sam…do what you did before."

"Yeah?" he breathlessly asked, slowing his pace to give her some long, lingering strokes. She always said she liked those cause she could feel every inch of him, the shape of him sliding in and out of her.

"Mmm…yeah. Fuck yes."

Kissing her filthily, he smoothed his hand over her rear and then started to tease her rim with his finger. Truthfully, he'd never done that before. But with her, he was willing and excited to try all sorts of things.

Rocking his hips into her, fingering her ass, he came in a shameful handful of minutes. Both of them nearly shouting at the end.

But damn…that was _hot_.

Exhausted, he collapsed beside her and after catching his breath, he turned to the side with a crooked grin. "So…that was new."

"Mm-hmm!" she agreed. "Fucking great though."

"Pretty sure I'd do just about anything with you," he admitted, amused at the revelation.

"Really?" she teased. "Saying that might be dangerous you know…"

He snorted. "With the life I've had—wild in the bedroom with you is nothing scary. Exciting, though? _Hell yeah_!"

"It feels good to feel good after everything," Jody reflected, shifting in the blankets to cuddle into his side, both their skin still a bit sweaty and sticking together.

"Yeah, it does. Honestly, I don't know how I got through the day before you."

Jody didn't respond except to smile fondly at him. She wrapped her arms around his damp chest and hugged him tight. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and told her how much he loved her.

After they lay quietly for a while, he found himself thinking about the future, and if Dean did what heaven wanted, and…well… _that_ happened. What would change, he wondered?

Clearing his throat of cobwebs, Sam said, "I enjoy fighting beside you."

He could almost sense her smile. "Me too, Sam."

"When the dust settles—hopefully it does anyway—will you continue to hunt with me?"

"You bet your ass I will, Winchester." With an abrupt shift she landed full on top of him and kissed him hard on the mouth.

/\/\/\

It had been a while since he'd gone to Sam for a talk. Getting better with his box of crazy meant he hadn't felt the need. Most nightmares were dealt with easily enough, and they were getting less frequent, less intense. In a strange way, crossing the sex boundary with Cas had kind of helped. As if he'd built the moment up so much before, fearing it, and now that it had passed, it was one less thing to be frightened of. Though he did still want to talk about the frequency of bad memories and the inopportune times they chose to invade his mind, there were other things that were suddenly more important than his own issues.

Like, say, the world…

All the chaos, the violence, and the deaths had gotten too loud to ignore, and it was starting to bother him more than he wanted to admit. Not even in the normal human being way of being bothered by death, but in his own special Dean way, that began with an itch.

It was the first of May when Dean searched out the bunker for his brother and found him in the library, reading a book about tablets, or 'The Word of God' as the book was dubbed.

"Why you reading that?"

"No reason, just, uh, catching up on stuff I guess."

Dean saw the lie, just like all the others. "You know, right?" asked Dean, cutting to the chase.

He was glad Sam didn't bullshit him. "Yeah, I do."

Pulling the wooden chair out, he sat down and met Sam's hazel eyes. "You gotta give me something. Anything, man… It's getting too bad out there. I can't live with the guilt. I know it's on me… Cas all but said the exact words."

Sam stared at the table for a good while. He looked up eventually, and for the first time—maybe ever, Sam's expression was a brick-wall—totally and completely unreadable. "There's something you need to do. But it has to be your choice. That's all I can say, Dean… I'm sorry."

"This is bullshit."

Sam didn't belittle him with a bogus retort and he appreciated it.

"What odds are you giving me?" Dean attempted a smile, but it came out all wrong.

Sam seemed amused by this at least. "You know, a few months ago, would'a said zero. We'd have been fucked. But now? I'll give ya a decent seventy percent."

The sheer ridiculousness of the conversation made them both laugh. Except Dean's laughter was stretched out, the pressure of things he had to do, not even knowing what the fuck they were, it was too much. Something he had to do that was his choice? How about: I choose to reopen Heaven! Dean eyed the ceiling hoping for flares and fireworks. Nothing happened. Guess that wasn't it, he thought.

"Hey, look," Sam started, leaning across the table to him. "Just fuck it, fuck Heaven, alright? We've all had a rough year, you most of all, and maybe, just try and be happy for a while. Live your life, man. You've got something great! I've got something great! And all that"—Sam waved towards the door—"we'll deal with it like we have everything else, remember? We'll fight it. Kill some evil sonsabitches." Sam grinned, stealing his line.

Dean glanced towards the hall where their rooms were—and where Sam assumed Cas must be. "We did luck out pretty good, didn't we?"

"Yeah, Dean, we really did. Now get the hell out of here and go do whatever it is you do that makes the lights flicker." Sam smiled through clenched teeth. Hmm, do the lights really flicker, he wondered? Neat.

Seeing the disturbed grimace on his brother's face, Dean barked a laugh, slapping a hand on the table. He got up, intending to head towards his room, just as he was told. But then stopped.

"Sammy?"

His giant little brother looked up at him, waiting.

"Is it a bad thing? What I have to do?"

The first clue that maybe things weren't so awful, was the half-teasing smile that slowly spread over Sam's face.

"I guess that would depend on who you ask about the subject."

"That doesn't help me at all."

Ignoring him, Sam pointed towards the hallways. "Go."

Rolling his eyes, he held up his palms. "I'm going, I'm going…"

So down the hall Dean went, coming up to his door where he blindly reached out and pushed the thing inward, not really expecting anything out of the ordinary. The sight that greeted him was Cas folding his laundry.

Dean froze in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" he stumbled the words out, sounding struck stupid.

Castiel paused with a shirt held against his chest, about to pull the sleeves in to fold. "Putting away your clothes, why?"

Dean felt hit with an iron pan labeled: Domestic! And ya know what? He fucking loved it. A grin turned up the corners of his mouth. Closing the door, Dean walked predatorily to the angel doing such a mundane thing as folding clothes. Snatching the Henley in the midst of a fold, Dean flung it into the corner of the room where it landed in a chair.

"This whole thing is really doing it for me," said Dean, gesturing to the pile of fresh laundry on the bed.

Cas squinted. "Me folding your laundry is somehow arousing to you?"

"God, yes."

Incredibly, Cas squinted harder, eyes nothing but slits. "Why?" he asked, looking around the room for clues.

"Because," Dean started, reaching out to pull Cas close. Without delay, he got to work on getting those clothes off. "It comforts me. You in my room, folding my clothes, it's domestic, it's…it's sweet, I guess. And making matters worse, you're a frigging angel, Cas. You probably could have snapped your fingers and cleaned my room without hardly a thought, but instead you took the time to fold each crappy piece of clothing I have. I love you."

The blue eyes slowly dawned with understanding, and Dean grew excited when Cas began to respond to his advances.

"Man, I never get tired of feeling your skin against mine," he said. The t-shirt Cas had on was quickly removed and Dean ran his palm over the expanse of skin revealed; the line from the centre of his chest down to his belly button, and then lower, slipping his finger into the waistband of the jeans Cas had stolen from him. Friggin' clothes thief, this one.

Tentatively, Cas reached out, wanting to get in on the undressing that was going on. But Dean retreated, feeling almost coy.

"Lie on the bed," asked Dean softly. "Wait, let's get rid of these first…" With a giddy, eager grin, he slowly got Cas out of those jeans, pleased there was nothing underneath.

"What's on your mind?" Cas asked him, moving back on the bed and comfortably crossing his ankles as he waited…naked, and horny. Dean committed the image to long-term memory.

"You."

Cas scoffed. "What about me?"

"Everything. Sam reminded me how lucky I am. I know the world out there is falling apart. I get how bad it is. I do…and trust me, there's enough guilt in here to sink a ship, but since there's apparently nothing I can do…then…I'm choosing to be happy in the meantime. I think it's about time, don't you?"

With nearly invisible speed, Cas launched off the bed and attacked Dean in a hug, his naked limbs wrapping around him at his shoulders and hips. The velvety plush lips showered Dean's face with soft, worshipful presses. "I'm so proud of you."

Dean pushed at Cas' thighs until the guy had unlatched and was standing on his own. Stepping back, Dean asked, "For what?"

"Allowing yourself to be happy. Dean, this is practically a miracle!" Cas tossed his head back, an exaggerated exaltation thrown up to the heavens.

Ha. Ha. "Aren't you so funny," Dean mocked. "Lie back down."

Eyes gleaming, Cas playfully tugged at his shirt before grinning and jumping back onto the bed, his mouthwatering manbits bobbing around temptingly. Dean had to swallow and step further back.

Wow. Dean had never seen Cas this elated. All playful and animated. But mostly… _free_.

It gave him the necessary confidence to start stripping. He hit play on his phone at the last minute and placed it at the end of the bed, watching Cas' eyes light up with intrigue. Since that first night back, they'd done it a few times, taking it slow. Only once had Dean demanded they stop. But it hadn't been the sex that freaked him out, it had been Cas kissing down his body and then wrapping his mouth around Dean's thick cock. Which rapidly deflated, and then Dean threw up.

It was probably within the top three most embarrassing moments of his life. It was the moment Cas' mouth closed around him, Dean was bombarded with images of everything he'd done with it, where it had been, what had been on it. It had been a horrific waking nightmare.

Things to work on, he supposed.

But tonight, and after a good two nights in a row of very healthy sextivities, he wanted to do something extra. Wanted to try, anyway. Hopefully with less vomit this time around. And also hopefully _with_ an erection—that was crucial.

The songs he liked, and specifically chose played on. The first one being Bad Company's _I'm Ready for Love_ —It seemed fitting. Cas, at least, seemed entertained by his choice. Dean slowly removed his button-up, and then his t-shirt, rubbing down his chest, holding Cas' eyes throughout.

"You amaze me," said Castiel, watching him intently. The angel's growing interest was very, _very_ obvious. Dean longed to have the taste of it in his mouth again, but he wanted to put on the show.

Bringing his fingers down to his jeans, he unbuttoned, slowly pulling down on the zipper, licking his lips as he did.

"Doin' pretty good, huh?" Dean winked. Cas said nothing except to smirk at him and shift irritably on the bed. He figured that was his cue to keep going.

Steeling himself, taking a breath, feeling sure with those wicked blue eyes trained on him, he reached inside and touched himself—not something he'd done since that one time in the locker room with Cas watching him. Never felt the need nor the desire. But this wasn't for him, so it was okay.

He was stiff and warm, a thick presence stressing the confines of his boxers. After several over-the-cotton strokes, he pushed down his jeans and stepped free of them. But he kept his socks on 'cause the floor was cold in the bunker and he knew Cas wouldn't care. Socks were sexy, right?

Gripping the waistband of the gray Fruit-of-the-Looms, he dragged the thick elastic down over the length of himself, right to the tip, and then lower, letting his cock spring out, slapping up towards his belly. Cas exhaled in a quick rush, straining his hips up as he stared.

"What do you want?" Dean asked when the boxers were gone, his heart thumping, his words meaning more than sex. But heck, that too…

Cas walked over on his knees to the edge of the bed, reached out for Dean' side and guided him close. There was a serious weight in Cas' stare.

"Forever." Cas cracked a dim smile, looking immeasurably vulnerable.

Dean inhaled sharply and framed that gorgeous face with his broad hands, bringing their foreheads together. "You really mean that?" his voice breaking.

"More than you know." Cas pressed his cheek against the side of Dean's face, their hands reaching out to trace each other's lines, all familiar muscle and bone.

The idea of forever with Cas was not something he'd ever truly allowed himself to believe in before. There was too much that didn't fit—his own issues, the fact that his life span was limited, and Cas was… _infinite._ Where did that leave growing old together? What did forever really mean?

These were questions he would eventually need answers for, but for now he kissed the angel in his arms, letting the discussion rest for another day.

Following Cas back onto the bed, he smiled, planning to take his sweet time. This is how you worship the divine, he thought, showering Cas with reverently laid kisses on every inch of his skin. Some were light and innocent, others were wetter with a need to taste, and some were no more than a press into the skin, taking a deep breath and relishing in the warmth and that scent that was so unique to Cas that Dean had begun to crave it. As he moved his mouth from the hardness of Cas' kneecap, to the soft, giving expanse of his thigh, inching his tongue towards the hipbone, he felt the body under him shift and twitch with growing anticipation.

Dean trailed his tongue along the natural slopes and ridges of Cas' body, the smooth, giving flesh of his belly, and a little lower to mouth right around his pubic area, having to hold his cock out of the way. Then up towards his expanding ribs, sucking along each bone into the 'v' towards his chest.

The second his lips wrapped around a pert nipple, Cas began to squirm, his hips canting up and rubbing at whatever part of Dean was closest—which was usually his outer thigh—that was now smeared in precome.

By the time Dean made it all the way up, sucking along the scruffy line of Cas' jaw, he knew it was time to move on. Cas' was nearly shaking under him from the assault of his mouth. To take the edge off, Dean reached down, eyes intent on Cas' unfocused blue ones, and dragged his palm over Cas' length, down to cup his sac and then back up again, curling his fingers around the flushed erection and gave it a few squeezes before he let go.

Diligently holding back his fears, he quietly asked Cas to roll over. Faced with the impressive stretch of new skin to discover, Dean shifted down on the bed to start laying kisses up lean, runner's calves (despite the fact that Cas never had to run anywhere). This led him to the backs of his thighs which were nearly hairless, and then lightly over each swell of his rear, to the little dip at the base of his spine, and then dragged his tongue in a long sweep all the way up Cas' spine.

Moving pointedly to kiss the inner curve of Cas' shoulder blades, he asked, "What does it feel like?" Emphasizing his words, he licked down the same line his mouth had taken.

The body below him tensed, and then a long exhale poured out over the pillows. "Intimate."

With a sweep of his hand, he pushed Cas' hair away from the back of his neck and then stretched up to kiss him there too. "Would you miss them?" Would you miss all of it, he wondered.

"My wings?"

Dean stilled, breathing nervously over the skin of Cas' neck. "Yeah."

After a moment's silence, Cas whispered, his voice strained, "It depends on what I'd be giving them up for." With that, Cas shifted under him, flipping onto his back.

They stared at one another while Cas took his turn of the touching, lazily mapping out patterns on Dean's skin. With his thumb, Dean traced across the curve of Cas' mouth, dipping inside to feel the wet heat there. The temptation struck him hard and he fell down onto Cas' chest, crushing them together in a wild kiss.

When he'd gotten his fill of exploring that delicious mouth, he scooted down the bed 'till he was kneeling between Cas' knees.

He curled his fingers around Cas' length and moved up slowly, watching Cas as his expression changed with each touch.

After a good five minutes of the hand-action, he arched over and pulled Cas into his mouth, feeling the soft skin slide in over his tongue. That first push back, the plush head pressing into his throat, he held still, waiting for the threat of gagging to subside. And then he swallowed around it. A single spark of on old memory shot through his mind, but it was as fleeting as a bullet, and he was able to ignore it.

Cas' fingers spread over the expanse of his head, caressing and stroking him gently, more encouraging than assertive. The low moans coming from the pile of pillows made his own cock perk up, responding instantly to that familiar depth and roughness.

Dean sucked back, his lips and tongue coating Cas in spit. The harder he sucked, the more precome dribbled out. He swallowed every drop. Mouthing down the side of Cas' cock, loving the smooth, lightly veined skin against his lips, he reached the base, with its coarse hair, and heady scent. He pressed kisses into that warm crevice, moving lower to slowly lick over Cas' balls, pulling each into his mouth carefully, suckling at him to the point that Cas begged him to go lower.

"Uhhnn… _Dean_! Please…a little lower. _Please…_ "

Doing a little internal check on the noggin, Dean decided he was of sound mind, knowing that the only sensation under his skin was heat; a pleasurable build of arousal that pumped with each beat of his heart. His breathing had quickened, but not out of fear or panic. Holding Cas in his hand and out of the way—wondering for a brief moment about the virility of angels—he left a trail of chaste kisses downward, pausing just shy of his ultimate goal.

"You're comfortable with this?" He glanced up from between Cas' legs with a quirked brow.

Cas shot him an impatient glare, and then darted his tongue out to wet his lips. " _Yes,_ " he breathed, slamming his head back into the pillows. "A thousand times yes…"

Dean laughed. Cas could definitely be a whiny, wanton, sex-crazed maniac in bed.

Sucking little red-spots over the inside of Cas' thigh, he worked his way back down, using one hand on Cas' cheek to give him better access. Directly over the place his own body had violated, Dean pressed the warmth of his mouth against it. There was a level of hilarity to what he was doing—gently kissing Cas' ass this way—like a goddamn frigging apology. An oxymoron of sorts; a gentle touch to an unholy place on a _very_ holy being.

Apparently, Dean wasn't the only own finding the whole thing mildly comical. He heard _and_ felt Cas laugh lightly. "Stop thinking and lick me," Cas demanded, pressing down.

_Wanton, sex-crazed maniac_ , Dean chuckled. Slipping his tongue out, he swiped over the puckered hole. It fluttered, and he licked again, feeling Cas already begin to loosen for him. But he wouldn't go further than a kick-ass rimjob.

Not yet.

One bene of what had been done to him meant he had no qualms about spearing his tongue into Cas, sending the angel into shudders, with pleas for more flowing out into the room. He licked into Cas, pressing his face right against him. His hands massaged at Cas' thighs and ass, relaxing him, teasing him. And then he started to stroke Cas' red-blushed cock again, working his tongue and fist in a building rhythm.

/\/\/\

Oh, fuuuuuck, I'm going to burst into flames!

How could something feel so good and so weirdly aggravating at the exact same time? Cas wondered. Every inch of his skin burned, but in the most incredible way. And he could feel his heart beat pulsing in the tips of his fingers and along the underside of his feet. Everywhere, he throbbed, as though his veins had ballooned and now his body was one giant pounding organ.

"Ahh!" he gasped, as Dean worked at him.

Dean's tongue— _mmm_. There were no words. In _any_ language. Each lick was like some kind of spell, throwing him into a state of delirium and fever.

The swipe of it, warm and slippery sent shivers riding in wakes over his skin. The tease of it made him feel empty, wanting Dean to take him, to hold him open and bring them together. Dammit, he'd smite something to feel Dean's fingers penetrate him. That tongue was too much of a tease, it filled him with liquid fire, and he wondered when he'd erupt from it. This wouldn't be an orgasm, it would be an event of epic proportions!

Castiel undulated on the bed, uncomfortable in his skin as the pleasure rushed towards the most terrible ache. The level of euphoria almost hurt it was so good. It made zero sense to him how that was possible, but there it was.

"Dean… please. It's okay. Please, I—" he begged helplessly, his ultimate release was now in Dean's hands _and mouth._

A groan raked out of him, a sound no more than the word please deconstructed.

"If I let you finish…you need to be ready to go again." Dean's breath flowed hot over his entrance as he spoke and Cas could hardly comprehend what the man was saying. He just nodded eagerly, moaning his acceptance of whatever Dean wanted.

The glide of Dean's tongue stretched past his rim, and he shook. "Dean, more, I need more…please." A single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, his body straining and coiled tight. The wetness streaked down over his temple as Dean curled his tongue just inside his ass. The pressure of arousal pulled his balls tight against his body, and from the top of his head to his toes he felt much too hot.

Dean's hand wrapped around his sex and began moving faster and faster, the drag of it making Cas blindly want to thrust up with the movements. Castiel's vision faded to a blur. The increasing pressure on his cock, the demanding strokes, drove him closer and closer to release. His breath hitched, his voice turned to rolling gravel, his moans sounding thicker. The wet slip of Dean's invading tongue was slowly killing him.

Sifting through the sounds of his own groans and whimpers, he heard a buzzing that he soon realized was Dean humming. Not a song, but an animalistic aimless vibration, basically purring. It tickled his ass.

"Oh, fuck…" _me! Fuck me!_

Dean's hand curled around the head, rounding over the most sensitive part of his cock, working the liquid there to cover him.

"Deaaaaan, more…"

The hand on him picked up pace: Round, and round and round, and down, and up, curling, twisting. Fuck, this was death, he thought. Sweet, deathless death. Dean purred as he licked at Cas' rim, teasing him until he cursed and then Dean would push inside and send him reeling towards ecstasy. The steady stream of sensation seemed to slowly unravel him into nothing but a body hungry for touch. If someone had asked him who or what he was, the answer would have been nothing but Dean's name and the word please.

The warm, wet touch of that slippery muscle slowly pushed him over the edge. The ache in his groin peaked, and an onslaught of heat flared out across his skin, throwing him into a sweat. Knowing he was _right_ there, Dean threw even more vigor into his movements and Cas was lost…

"M _ngh_... _Ahh-hh-hh_ … Fuck! _DEAN!"_

Castiel seized up, every muscle contracting at once, and then a surprisingly powerful shot of come exploded from the tip of his cock—the feeling so incredible that he hardly noticed when it landed on his face, the next bit splattered across his lower lip and chin, and each following spurt hitting lower and lower as the orgasm faded to a low buzz.

Eyelids fluttering, he sporadically caught sight of Dean crawling back up over his come-glazed body. His lover's lips swollen red, and his hair in total disarray. Cas committed the sight to his very expansive memory banks—the whole of the world's creation in a time-line of pictures being replaced by endless images of Dean.

"Don't move." Dean giggled and kind of snorted. "You have come on your eyelid."

Swiping his finger over the spot, Dean looked down at the creamy dollop on his finger and lifted it to his mouth and linked it clean.

None of the mess bothered Castiel, and a part of him liked to see Dean cleaning him up. In the place of the pressure-spiked arousal from before, he now lay there limp and full of sedated joy.

"No, no, you're not getting to relax now. You promised." Dean kissed him, licking the sections of skin that were still slick with release.

"Can I cheat then?" asked Castiel, darting his tongue out to clean off his own mouth of salty come.

"Angel powers are not off limits."

Closing his eyes to concentrate, he re-energized his human form and brought his sex to its full length and girth. When he opened his eyes again, Dean appeared impressed, or the widened set of eyes did anyway.

The glisten of release still on his cock, feeling the air cooler than the rest of him, was what Dean used to spread from the head down the shaft and back up again. Narrowing his eyes, Dean looked down, spit into his hand, and worked that around too. The extra glide forced his eyes shut.

The bed shifted under him and his eyes popped back open to find Dean moving to straddle his stomach, leaning back, his hand quick to reach behind and guide Cas' erection between his legs.

"Dean, what—You're not ready."

Dean smirked. "What'dya think I was doing with my free hand near the end? It's okay, babe, you were too blissed out to notice."

The heat of Dean's insides engulfed him, moving all the way down in one go. Remembering every other time before this, he immediately reached for Dean's hands, their fingers slotting together.

Getting himself seated in a crouch, holding Cas' hands for support, Dean began to ride up and down. Both of them knew Dean liked the control in this position, and like everything else, Castiel was always willing to give Dean whatever he wanted.

/\/\/\

The commanding presence of Cas' cock filled Dean so much that he shook with each thrust. It was always like this. He turned feverish, his ass thrumming with pleasure, his cock wanting to be caressed, which Cas always did. The light, quick flow of Cas' hand teased him to the brink, and then near the end he'd squeeze harder, pressing up against the crown.

It was easier this way for him, at least for now. Controlling the depth, the speed, always being able to search Cas' eyes. One day, he'd be okay with Cas pushing him down onto his front and fucking him hard and he would no doubt love it. But they weren't there yet. Or at least, he wasn't.

But this… _this_ he was getting damn good at.

Sweat already beading with the exertion, he rode Cas at a moderate pace, only stopping and giving Castiel the okay to do the work when his legs threatened to collapse with exhaustion. Using the hold on his thighs and ass, Cas worked them together, using his superior strength, ensuring he went slow.

Their open channel of communication from that first night stayed strong, and he knew he could say exactly what was on his mind. Even if it was… _unconventional_. Cas never judged or looked at him like he was a freak. They both knew he'd be left with unusual proclivities in the bedroom.

Dean was nothing if not exact. "Tease my rim with the tip of your cock… Yeah, yeah, just like that, babe. Oh, fuckin' hell..."

Cas had pulled out to the tip, poking in and out of Dean right at the edge, rubbing against him before rutting back in deep, at Dean's request. The full tight fit left them in silent awe for a brief second, before the full thrusts continued. The slap of their bodies coming together was all kinds of vulgar and he secretly loved in, nervous that the reason he liked it was all about the primal nature of it all.

"I'll do the work now," said Dean, as his energy came back. Thighs straining and rock-solid from all the working out at the gym, he moved up and down, letting Cas lay still and enjoy his efforts.

As the trust grew, the more comfortable Dean became with himself again. Finding endless delight in sex, even more than he used to before. Spreading his knees wider, putting more weight on his heels, Dean found Cas' heated stare and straightened up, moving his hands back to brace on Cas' thighs. Once he was settled, Dean lowered, taking that full length all the way.

"Uhn, do that thing."

With Dean's knees spread wide, it was easy for Cas to grab Dean's flushed sex. Meeting his eyes to make sure he was okay, Cas pressed his stiff erection down in a bend towards his thigh and held it there teasingly, and then let go. It flung up and slapped against his stomach. The slap and bounce striking off a flush of arousal from his ass to his nipples. He didn't know why he liked it… Probably 'cause he was fucked in the head. But Cas loved him…and didn't question what he wanted, or why. Cas kept at it as Dean's thighs squeezed and contracted, moving up and down so much it was a good thing he spent hours in the gym or he'd be cramping up.

If he got too close and didn't want to come, all he had to do was ask, and Cas would gently pull on his sac to relieve the tension, or squeeze around the base of him.

After a while he shifted back to his original position, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead before he threaded his fingers between Cas' and held on tight.

During sex and sex-related activities, Dean's body and his mind fought for what he was okay with—what was _normal_. Desires would spring up on him, his body wanting things and him not sure if they were acceptable. It was like each kinky thing could potentially be the thing that breaks him, sends him into some kind of relapse or whatever. But he also didn't want to hold back with Cas.

If they were gonna work in the long run— _forever even_ —he needed to be able to let go.

Cas seemed to think there was something else on his mind, right in the middle of fucking. "Dean, tell me what you want."

"I don't know," he admitted, still riding Cas' erection, the sting of sweat making it to the corners of his eyes. There were thoughts and desires sifting around, but one did stick out more than the rest.

"Yes you do, it's there. It's okay. I know your mind too…just tell me."

Dean paused on the down thrust, sitting there with Cas filling him so satisfyingly. Untucking his feet, going to his knees, he leaned over. "Umm… I don't know, but I think maybe I want your fingers in my mouth, and then for you to do the work. Not hard though… Really fucking slow, okay?"

"Mind if I listen in? Just in case." This was Cas' way of keeping tabs on his crazy when they did something to appease Dean's perverted new sexual realities.

Fact is, he was grateful for it. Better to have someone else deciding what inside that brain of his was crazy or not. The only downside was that when bad memories snuck in, Cas saw those too.

Bending over, he sought out Cas' lips and tongue, moaning against him as he felt his excitement grow from the prospect of their next position. Cas wiggled his hips, sending sparks shooting inside of Dean and he nearly bit that talented tongue. It was easy to tell when Cas was tuned into him now, sort of a really low ringing in his head, like the kind you get after a concert but softer.

Holding his gaze, Cas brushed Dean's mouth with his fingers before pushing them in and over his tongue. His cock throbbed with excitement.

_I'm yours, Cas_ _…_ _All yours._

The grip on his lower jaw, the salty taste of Cas' fingers in his mouth, pushing down on his tongue, was exquisite. He held still and let Cas push into him slow and long. It was the type of slow that leaves you breathless, that makes you want to cry.

_I trust you_ _…_ And Dean closed his eyes to feel.

Using the hold on Dean's face, Cas pulled him back to attention, forcing his eyes open. Cas was gently shaking his head. "Always look at me."

_It's okay_ _…_ _I know you_ _'_ _re here. I know it_ _'_ _s you._ Dean let the low yellow light of the room and worried look on Cas' face drift away, blackness closing in. To feel. He just needed to feel.

His mind was open, Cas was there if things went awry. But they didn't. Instead, they went very, blissfully good. Cas' thick sex slid in and out of him, teasing his nerve endings with each pass, and that hand gripping over his teeth and tongue was the weirdest and sexiest form of grounding himself into the moment he'd tried yet, but it worked. Fuck, did it ever work. The warmth of Cas' fist worked him over and Dean felt the air go thin, and he heaved breaths over Cas' fingers.

In a few short minutes, and without warning, he came. It was the slowest pulsing orgasm of his life and he felt boneless from it. The flow of warmth oozed out in lazy spurts, dribbling out the tip, coaxed through by Cas' expert touch. Keeping his eyes closed, Dean rolled his head back, Cas' fingers sliding over his tongue and hooking behind his bottom teeth. All he felt was the pounding of his heart, the touch of Cas' hands, and the increased stretch from Cas' jerking erection.

Dean smiled in an abstract way when Cas started to let go—the fingers preventing him from doing the real thing—and he finally opened his eyes. Opened them to find a breathtaking sight: Of Castiel trembling through his release, his stare burning into Dean's soul, mouth adorably agape in a big fat 'o'.

In moments like this Dean could swear he felt the tattoo on his back tingle. Like, _YES! This is meant to be._ And then he'd self-consciously rub a hand over the back of his neck, realizing his internal ramble sounded very much like a love-struck teenage girl.

When Cas' spit-coated fingers finally slipped free of his mouth, they rubbed along his jaw and neck—which were definitely a little sore.

Both of them sighed and reached for each other. Not giving two shits about the mess between them, Dean moved to lay on Cas' chest.

Lazily, he sucked a kiss against Castiel's jawline, enjoying the scrape of coarse hair over his lips and tongue. _Are you still in my head?_ he wondered.

Cas nodded, pressing a tired kiss to his hair.

_How bad is it?_ he asked jokingly, or at least half-jokingly.

A warm hand rubbed soothingly up and down his back. "You're doing great, Dean. Honestly." Cas stretched a bit to squeeze his butt playfully. "Hmm… There's another half formed idea floating around in there, what is it?" Cas wondered.

Aware of the slight sensitivity of his ass, he moved gently, his limbs definitely whipped. Once he was off Cas and on the other side of the bed, he asked Cas to turn over.

Those breathtaking blues sparkled with excitement. Shit. Cas thought— "Um, no, that's not… Sorry, Cas. Something else, though. I promise you'll like it."

_Grr_ , stupid land mine, thought Dean. Fuck, he'd need to get over that shit eventually. It wasn't me, he tried to remind himself. But it was those goddamn memories, the way that bitch had shoved him into the front seat, the vivid details of looking down to— _Fuck._ Dean cinched his eyes closed to brush off the memory before it unraveled too far. For now, the thought of topping left him with crippling guilt so pervasive that it made him nauseous.

Luckily, Cas flopped over for him and Dean was a little grateful that the guy missed the flash of horror that had no doubt taken over his expression for a few seconds. Resetting himself with few deep breaths, Dean got back with the program.

Gathering what he needed from the nightstand, he straddled over Cas' lower half, his flaccid dick at threat-level zero. Good boy, Dean thought. S _tay that way_. Squirting a good douse of oil onto that undeniably sexy back, he closed the lid, tossed the bottle behind him and started up one hell of a massage.

Cas groaned thickly into the padding of the pillows. "This. Is Heaven. No argument."

Dean chuckled, rubbing his fingers into the meat of Cas' back, the oil making it easy. He spent extra time around Cas' shoulder blades, loving how Cas began to squirm and make this really adorable little noise that he wasn't all that sure was coming from the human side of Cas.

He worked outward towards Cas' arms, rubbing circles into his biceps and pressing down the length of his triceps. Even massaging right in towards his armpits—though that was more to see if he could make Cas laugh. As it was, Castiel grinned, evidently more turned on than amused.

Hmm, file that away for later.

Dean shuffled lower, stroking up and down Cas' sides, two knuckles dragging down either side of Cas' spine, and then kneading into the muscle of his ass.

"Ooohhhhh… My… _God_ ," Cas slurred.

Dean glanced up, realizing he'd gotten the guy to drool. And why that made him feel like he won the lottery, he didn't know.

Down and down he went, melding Cas into putty, coaxing the angel slowly to sleep with his hands.

Leaving Cas in his strange turned-off mode on the bed, Dean wiped his hands off with a nearby towel, taking a moment to get between his legs where Cas' come had dried and become uncomfortably sticky and flaky. He turned off his phone, flipped off the lamp, and set the blankets over Cas, crawling in beside him with a dopey grin on his face.

_I love you_. Dean pressed his lips to Cas' temple, pouring every ounce of emotion into the touch.

 


	35. Trace the Moment, Fall Forever

 

> _"And I am flawed but I am cleaning up so well,_  
>  _I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself"_

* * *

On the heels of the sunrise, Dean woke before Cas, a dream still fading from his subconscious. A pleasant one. One of the first good ones he remembered having in a while. It had been of the two of them fighting over blankets, and who was invading whose side of the bed. They'd been older. Cas had gray hair and laugh lines. And _damn_ , he'd aged well.

A smile broke across his face, and he snuggled against Cas' back, their fetal positions exact and lined up; his knees right into the crevice of the backs of Cas'. The smile didn't dim or retreat, and he wondered stupidly if it would ever go away.

Under the covers, it was near sweltering with their combined body heat—especially as Cas seemed to run a little hotter for angel-y reasons. Instead of moving, he just laid there and soaked it up.

It has to be like this forever, he thought. This unparalleled innocent happiness; it overwhelmed him.

/\/\/\

Dean's movements stirred him. The angel part of him creating an instant sense of awareness. He missed the slow drift of waking when he was human, it was much less jarring. By Dean's pattern of breathing, he knew the man was awake behind him, but the calm in the room kept them both quiet and still, enjoying the peace.

He lay there listening to the sound of Dean's heart for an indefinite amount of time. Long enough, at least, for his own to somehow alter its rhythm to match.

Dean's arm was draped over his. But now it moved a little. It might have been what woke him in the first place, he realized. Castiel closed his eyes as Dean began stroking the back of his hand and in between his fingers. The touch was lazy-like, and therefore, he didn't realize when something was off about it.

A hard, smooth object was dragged down around his third finger. By the time it was nudged over his knuckle, he still wasn't all that sure what was happening. Dean gently settled the ring in place to where it now rested.

All at once, the air caught in Castiel's throat as everything clicked into place. Forcing his lungs to expand, he dragged in a choppy breath. The temperature rose under the thick blankets.

Dean tenderly kissed the back of his neck but said nothing.

Failing to breathe normally, Castiel laced their fingers together, pulling Dean's arm into his chest and holding it tight. Dean's heavy leg wrapped around his lower half. They rested quietly; cuddling tight, hearts pounding wildly with the silent moment just passed. Both their breathing a little off-kilter.

Glancing down, he saw that the ring Dean had put on him was the one Dean had always worn. It was his father's wedding band. As if knowing Cas would protest the heirloom, and what it meant to the brothers, Dean squeezed him hard, dragging his nose over Cas' skin, audibly breathing him in, intermittently covering his neck and shoulders with adoring kisses.

The affection flowed and ebbed into something more direct, Dean dimly humming pleasant sounds as he rocked against Cas' rear in a strangely non-sexual way, fingers tracing the metal band now on Cas' finger. Whispering thick into Cas' ear, he uttered, "Marry me…" Followed by a smothering goofy embrace.

Dean couldn't stop hugging him and it was pushing Cas to the edge of elation; bursting with emotion that didn't seem capable of staying in the confines of a mere human body.

Bringing their linked hands to his mouth, Castiel placed a kiss into the centre of Dean's palm. Turning over, Dean shifted to give him room. Their eyes locked and it was the shock in Dean's that made him realize he was crying.

"Cas…don't cry." Dean pulled him down and kissed his mouth, rubbing a hand over his cheek.

"Why do emotions leak out of human bodies this way?" he wondered out loud, knowing the question was dumb and inappropriately timed. Not that he'd ever been good at filtering his thoughts around Dean.

Dean laughed, notably relieved. "I dunno, Cas." Dean's fingers quickly wicked away the wetness at the corners of his eyes.

They stretched out, Cas lazily draping himself over Dean, where they quickly fell into a lengthy, heated make-out session.

Making out was a full-body affair—with hand-holding, fingers lacing and unlacing over and over again, bodies gently pressing into one another, feet rubbing together, even toes. Low contented groans that led not to sex—not just yet—but more avid cuddling, and a whole lot of nuzzling. The looks they traded were all about monumental love and reciprocated veneration and Castiel soaked up every second of it. There was an old saying, about eyes sparkling that this moment reminded him of. Remarkably, and however inexplicably, Dean's green eyes were definitely a bit glazed and sparkly, greener than ever before.

Hours later, surrounded in the best kind of warmth, _Dean's warmth_ , Castiel finally understood what it felt like to be home. And when they came, within seconds of each other, Dean pulled him close, brought their tight-linked hands to his mouth and kissed the new ring that adorned Cas' left hand.

Only in the far recesses of his mind did he recall the broader significance of this mornings' events. Yet somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. Selfish that might be, it didn't change the focus of his joy. Their 'Union under God' might be the key to fixing Heaven, but it was a by-product of something infinitely greater, and it had no place here.

Dean was home. Nothing else mattered.

/\/\/\

At breakfast, or more brunch, since the time was rounding past eleven, they were all quiet around the kitchen table. Sam with his cereal; Jody too. Crowley eating some kind of biscuit with orange marmalade on it.

Cas, of course, was picking away at bits of melon that Sam had set out for them—the two being the biggest consumers of fruits and veggies in the place. Dean found it funny that while Cas absolutely loved burgers as an angel, his other favourites were strangely healthy.

His mind wandered as he considered what their lives would be like if Cas became human. There was no denying that what he'd done that morning was partly from a place of believing that they would be together like two regular people— _humans_.

For now, he'd settle for the fact that Cas had said yes. Not verbally, but Dean hadn't needed that. Cas' reaction had spoken louder than a yes would have any day. Seeing the angel's eyes watered up that way, full of emotion—fuck, that had been one of the more beautiful things Dean had ever seen.

Unfortunately, being married and _getting married_ , were two massively different concepts. The latter kind of freaked him out. But he figured there would be plenty of time to navigate that unchartered territory.

The breakfast had been quiet for the most part, mumbled greetings as they all met up in the kitchen. No one yet aware of what had happened. It was kind of nice, actually. And because of that, he and Cas kept exchanging secret, child-like grins at one another.

Just as Dean was about to reach over and squeeze Cas' thigh, asking if he wanted to go out and deal with some hunting of those lessers, Sam froze with a spoonful of cheerios halfway to his mouth. The milk spilled over the edge of the spoon, splashing onto the table. Sam's hazel eyes seemed to be caught on something.

Maybe he was in a morning daze, Dean thought. Reaching over, he waved in front of his brother's field of vision, narrowing his eyes. "Yo! Daydreamer! You're makin' a mess."

His voice seemed to bring the guy back to life, starting with a minor twitch that turned into a full blown grin. Sam's head snapped to Dean, the grin now a beaming smile.

"Uhm, _Dean_? There something you wanna tell us?"

Oh, crap.

His face instantly heated up by about a thousand degrees, his head listing sideways towards Cas, feeling suddenly nervous about the whole 'Shit, we're engaged!' thing.

"Uh," Dean cleared his throat, shooting a glance at Cas—who was still chewing a piece of melon, his cheek bumped out with the shape of it. "Uhm…" Dean raked his nails over his scalp.

Everyone was staring at him, including Cas—the angel now smirking. Okaaaay, apparently he'd lost the ability to speak. Awesome. Might as well make a show of it and avoid having to say anything, he thought. Moving fast, Dean dove to the right and laid one on Cas good and hard, slipping in a little tongue and getting the sweet taste of cantaloupe.

The kiss perked up his confidence enough to blurt it all out. "I asked Cas to marry me… He was dumb enough to say yes…umm…so yeah."

_Gah_! Why the hell were they all still staring at him!? Not cool! Thank God Cas put his arm across Dean's shoulders, it helped shift the tension some. But not enough. Christ in Heaven, a good thirty seconds had passed since he'd verbally spouted the news.

Annnnnnd still with the speechlessness… _C'mon_!

"What!?" Dean spat angrily, throwing his arms up.

Everyone seemed to come alive at once. All big smiles, and, ' _That's fucking awesome!'_ and 'OMG— _That's great!'_ and ' _We_ _'_ _re so happy for you guys!_ 'And, ' _Whenwhenwhen_ _?!'_

"Fuckin' hell. Chillax, would ya's?" Dean rubbed a hand over his face, sweating buckets over the big deal they were making about all this. "Listen up, this isn't gonna be any big thing okay, just some quickie nuptials…and then the good stuff. That's the point of all this, right? _The marriage part_? The whole: I vow to love you even you're fucked up and, or wrinkly?" He met eyes with each of them, including Crowley, who seemed smug for some unknown reason.

Turning to Cas, aware of everyone gawking, he rushed out the words. "I love you. Like a fuckton…uhh, well you know obviously. Anyway, I ain't tryin' to hurt your feelings or nothin'. Just, weddings, _eeeh_ , not really my thing, okay? Marriage…forever and all that? With you? _That_ I can handle. Everything else is just unnecessary fanfare."

Cas and his stupid adorable face just smiled, stretching over to cover his mouth with a searing kiss. Damn him and those chapped lips. Castiel pulled back from him only enough to get some words out. "Dean, I don't care how we get married. The forever part is all that interests me."

When he finally tore his eyes away from Cas', he realized pretty much everyone else was in various states of awkward. The moment had gotten way too intimate for an audience. And then there was Crowley, rolling his eyes at the end of the table and mock-gagging at their sweet exchange.

Cas glared towards the ex-King as he stood up, clearing both their plates. Jody did the same for her and Sam. Then, together, the two left the dining area, Jody grasping Cas' elbow on the way out and leaning up towards his ear with a wide smile on her face.

Shifting his eyes away from Cas' exit, Dean and Sam turned to Crowley. They both cleared their throats. Crowley didn't budge.

"Can you give us a minute?" asked Sam.

Huffing and grousing like a child, Crowley stalked off muttering about being the odd one out. Dean couldn't imagine the alternative—seeing the former King of Hell with some kind of woman? Or a dude? Or whatever he was in to. But, the guy was human now…can't expect him to stay celibate forever.

With everyone gone, leaving the infamous Winchester brothers alone, the air in the room shifted—less tense, but weighted in a different way.

"After mom and dad… I, uh, didn't think you'd care about marriage and all that."

Dean rubbed his hand across the table and then gestured with it as he spoke. "Sammy, after everything we've seen over the years: the spells, the rituals, the monsters, the lore… I'm not gonna pretend that the concept of marriage isn't important. And Cas deserves everything from me. I'm not the same man I was eight months ago. I'll never be that guy again. And ya know what? Thank-fucking-God! I was always doing the wrong thing, Sam. The only goddamn thing I ever did right was keeping you alive! And shit, even that I fucked up, actually, so…" Exhaling noisily, stumped for more of an explanation, Dean leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the table-edge.

"I'm happy you did what you did. If you hadn't…" Sam glanced towards the empty doorway.

"You wouldn't be with Jody." Dean completed his thought.

Sam smiled. "Not just that." His brother abruptly laughed. "I would have missed seeing you all flustered about having proposed to Cas."

"Shuddup." Dean shook his head.

"So…are you okay?" asked Sam, his mirth switching to pensive.

Dean held the familiar eyes, seeing the whole of his life laid out in their past. Cas was what he lived for, the reason to enjoy life all wrapped up in those vivid blue eyes and crinkly smile, but Sam was as necessary to him as feet were. Without his brother, he would never have been able to stand on his own.

"You know what? Yeah…I'm-I'm alright."

They both seemed to sober up in the same instant. "Okay then! Ready to go out and kick some ass today?"

Dean pursed his lips, nodding, affecting a _yup_ expression.

"Sure there's nothing you wanna, maybe, talk about?" asked Sam, no doubt catching on that there were things he wanted to discuss, but not now, not after the glorious morning he'd just had.

Dean stood, getting ready to go. "Nah, it'll keep. Don't worry, Sammy, I still need you as a sounding board, just not today. Today is a damn good day and I'm sure as hell not gonna dredge up awful shit and ruin it."

This pleased his brother, who stood up to follow Dean down the hall to their respective rooms. With a clap on Dean's shoulder, Sam reiterated how happy he was, and then they parted ways to go off and get packed.

/\/\/\

The five of them spent the day fighting and killing lessers in a nearby town. Despite the violence and dirty task of killing, the high from earlier in the day carried them through it. Castiel couldn't seem to wipe the smile from his face. Which Dean told him looked extremely sadistic as he flew from one target to the next down the centre of a two lane road wearing a bright, beaming smile.

"But, I'm happy!" he argued.

Dean paused to stab a lesser rearing up behind them and then kissed Cas, slipping him a little tongue. "I know, I know. Me too."

The distinct accent of Crowley's yelling wafted over to them, "Only the precious kitty and his human would stop in the middle of a bloody brawl to make out!" But then his voice caught in his throat seeing Sam slap Jody on the ass mid-fight. "Ugh, I need a lover…"

They couldn't realistically fight to the end. At this point, there was no end. Not until the wedding really. Dean didn't know that though. And because of that, he was the hardest to get to leave after several hours of full-on combat. Most of them were dead on their feet, fighting with a dangerous level of exhaustion. Even Cas, whose otherworldly stamina felt drained near the end.

Bloody, limbs dragging, Cas zapped them back to the bunker all at once. Most complained of needing food and rest, but not Dean.

Castiel found himself being pulled down the hall towards their room. Once the door was shut and they were alone inside, Dean went for him, breathing heavy and nearly ripping his dirty clothes off.

"Dean, slow down. We have all night."

Cradling his face, Dean licked into his mouth, moaning as he did. "Are you sure?" asked Dean with sudden direct attention.

"About marrying you?" The question so ridiculous he almost laughed.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm…I'm a brute, and arguably really fucking damaged! I get it though, I know you love me, Cas. I know I'm your weakness too. But, let's be honest, I ain't much of a catch."

Cas set Dean with a fierce glare. "You are intelligent…" Snapping his fingers, he rid Dean of his jacket. "You are an incredible fighter." _Snap_. And then the shirt. "You are compassionate, always trying to save everyone." _Snap._ There went the shoes and socks. "You make me feel like I'm inside out with your touch." _Snap._ Pants gone. "And you are the strongest, bravest individual I've ever met."

He stopped there, leaving Dean in only boxer-briefs, which were stretched out from fighting.

Mouth agape, Dean stood still, wide-eyed and mute.

So Cas continued, "But you're also stubborn, and a tease, and much too ready to throw yourself into the fire over anyone else. I love every good and bad thing about you. The faults are what make us human, Dean. That was always the issue with angels, their inability to make mistakes, to question, to do the wrong thing and see what might happen. You taught me what it meant to be human, and you made me…you made me _want_ to be human."

"Cas, what are you saying?"

He approached Dean, willing the majority of his own clothes gone, too impatient to do the task by hand. "I told you I want forever with you…but not like this." He gestured at himself. "I want the growing old part. It's an incredible thing for humans—to experience this fleeting life, choosing to spend that time with one person—day in and day out. _Forever…_ "

Dean stepped back, "I would never ask that of you."

"You don't have to. It's my choice."

Dean squinted, confusion scrunching up his forehead. "What, like right now…or?"

Grabbing Dean's hips, he pulled the man's body to him. "No," he answered sternly. "Not now. When the threat has passed."

"There's always gonna be new threats, Cas. I mean, shit, we don't even know how to fix this one! Or you guys do and I'm just stuck in some weird-ass holding pattern."

"Trust me."

To his extreme relief, Dean said nothing further on the subject.

They moved to the edge of the bed, ridding each other of the last remaining clothes. For odd human-mating reasons, Castiel enjoyed the very manly sweat smell coming off Dean, and he kept burying his face against Dean's neck and shoulder, and down the centre of his chest, kissing the tacky skin.

"We should probably shower." Dean chuckled, having lifted his arm and taking note of his own stink.

"Hmm, you know? I find you incredibly sexy like this." Flicking his tongue over Dean's nipple, he felt Dean palm the back of his head, pressing him closer against the man's chest. Castiel sucked the bud into his mouth, pulling it gently between his teeth.

In a strained voice, Dean muttered, "You like me dirty?"

Fearing this going sideways, Cas stood up and grabbed Dean's face so he could look in his eyes. "No," he clarified, "I like your smell." With a thought, he made Dean's skin clean, but left the thick smell of him behind.

"You might just be as much of a freak as me." Dean seemed to find comfort in this.

Regrettably, he answered with the truth. It wasn't freaky at all. Just biology. "Actually, it's quite normal. Human bodies release pheromones, and you are right now. Quite a lot, actually. You must _really_ like me." He delighted, turning up to grin at Dean.

Giving him a crooked smile, Dean grabbed for his hand and shoulder, and flung him onto the bed. "Yeah, Cas, I like you…ya' frickin' goof."

Licking his lips, Castiel felt playful in a way he wasn't familiar with. He had the urge to stop Dean's advance onto the bed. So he did, pushing his feet out—mock-kicking Dean in the chest.

Grabbing his foot easily, Dean bent a little and sucked over his big toe—

"Oh… that's strangely pleasant."

The next five minutes were bizarre yet unquestionably arousing. Dean's mouth licked and sucked his toes, down the bottom of his foot, and then his lover licked a trail allover his legs.

When Dean finally ended up on top of him, laying comfortably, his hands stroking through Castiel's hair, he looked down into his eyes. "I've never seen you like this before."

"I have the constant urge to squeeze you and shout nonsensical words for no good reason," Castiel answered.

Dean laughed and attacked him with wild kisses; that went from playful to full on intent. A hard peck changing with the invasion of a tongue. He remembered how that tongue felt elsewhere, his body tensing with the memory.

They both grew warm, dragging themselves together until they were both insanely hard, rutting against each other, blindly seeking pressure.

Castiel wanted Dean inside him, but he knew it was too soon. Maybe he could attempt something else that had evaded them lately.

"Let's try me going down on you again."

Dean blanched. "That went really bad in case you forgot."

"I know. I'm not pushing just suggesting we give it another shot. Entirely up to you." He raised his hands in surrender, and waited for Dean to give him an answer either way.

Closing his eyes, Dean rushed out, "Itwasreallyembarrasing…"

"Tell me what would make it easier?"

"Going back in time about eight months."

"Dean," he grated.

"You asked!"

Deciding to let it go, he went back to kissing Dean, rolling his body underneath the heavy weight, seeking some kind of friction. It didn't escape his notice that Dean's mind seemed elsewhere. Not a _bad_ elsewhere, just… not all here. That was okay, he would just lay there and let his future husband work through whatever he needed.

_Future husband?_ Hmm. That's a label for Dean that he never expected to use.

Cas broke away from Dean's mouth, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. "You're going to be my husband." And then he laughed. It was too surreal.

"Yup. Pretty nuts, huh?"

"Definitely nuts. Sorry for the interruption, please continue kissing me."

"Gladly," Dean happily went back to molding their lips together, pressing his tongue inside to stroke at him.

This was all well and good, except that placid behavior escaped Castiel entirely and he found himself continually interrupting their lovely moment with bizarre things that he felt he had to say; about their relationship, about how deliriously happy he was, and one point ending up in a fit of laughter over the fact that Dean had stabbed him in the barn when they first really met.

This resulted in Dean asking if he was on some drugs. He assured Dean he wasn't, that he couldn't be as an angel. But even so, his body _did_ seem peculiarly ramped up. His mind buzzing like bees on a bright Sunday afternoon. Overall, Castiel was filled with the ridiculous desire to jump up and down, and laugh, and smile for, like, a billion hours. Maybe it was the same as being sad, he mused, the emotion too great to be held in. Except, instead of crying, he needed to burn off the happiness lest he burst like a damn supernova.

After there seemed to be no end in sight to his giddy behaviour, Dean pinned him to the bed.

"Alright there giggles, we're gonna try the thing… The—you going down on me, because you're damn adorable, but you won't shut up. I love you, but all this crazy-happy attitude you've got going is putting some serious pressure on me to keep you that way and I don't think I can deliver." Dean shook his head. "Man, you're gonna be so disappointed in like ten years when I have a beer gut and violent nightmares to boot."

Frowning, he kissed Dean. "I'm sorry, I'm clearly not handling this feeling too well. I can't imagine what drugs must be like."

"Yeah, I think we should probably _never_ give you drugs when you're human."

"You seem to be enough anyway."

"Thank god! Cause I ain't much."

Castiel grimaced. "Please stop saying things like that."

"Knee-jerk reaction. I'll try to stop."

The quick response stunned him. It warmed his heart that Dean was really trying to be whole and happy.

Dean sat up, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Okay! Let's partake in the next adventure of: ' _Let's see how fucked up Dean Winchester still is_!'"

Flipping them hastily on the bed, Castiel set Dean up, sitting against the headboard, piling pillows around him as if he were some fragile vase. Since he wasn't hard, Castiel began by kissing his lips, sucking marks down his neck, nipping over his shoulder, and then right near his ear; a place he knew gave Dean rolling shivers the longer he kept at it.

He grazed the back of his knuckles over Dean's length, watching it straighten out and grow thick. With his free hand, he held Dean's opposite hand out to the side, fingers lacing and unlacing, pressing his thumb across Dean's palm, redirecting attention to the innocent touch. He felt Dean's eyes following his every move, and could see the strain of not letting his mind wander.

"I feel like you can see what I've done, taste it even… It's hard not to think of that."

"Dean, we're the only ones here. Memories are not a physical thing. They remain in your head, not on your body."

Dean went silent, but Castiel kept saying things to ease him. It seemed to work. He stroked Dean persistently, massaging his thighs, gripping his hand, kissing him.

When he started mouthing down Dean's chest, he went slow, giving Dean a chance to stop him if he needed. But he got down between Dean's muscular legs without a pause. Holding the erection with his hand, he bent and licked across the tip. There was no sound from above; no reaction at all.

In some ways, that was probably a good thing.

Wrapping his lips around the head, feeling the soft cushion of that plump part of Dean, he moaned—the taste was too good. He caught Dean flexing his abs and took that as encouragement, drifting lower, letting spit ease the way. His grip, switching to his thumb and fore-finger hugged down the shaft, his mouth following. Aware of the basics mostly, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked back.

Dean's fists were balled tight near his hips, his knuckles getting whiter with each bob of Castiel's head. Lapping up the drizzle of precome at the tip he kept it there on his tongue and went up to Dean's mouth, giving Dean a taste of himself.

"Tastes good to me," he said in a husky voice. Dean let out a jerky breath, his fists unclenching. "Don't you agree?"

"Jesus, Cas."

Accepting what he could only imagine was some type of praise, Castiel scooted back down, head bent over and laved at the erection still gloriously hard for him. It was salty, and smooth, the skin sliding over the hard core with the snug press of his lips.

Doing the same as Dean had, because it had felt so good, he moved lower and showed attention to other areas between thick thighs. Reaching for Dean's hips, he pulled him down the bed more, which effectively left Dean with no other option than to lay back. It allowed Castiel to get closer, tonguing downwards.

Feeling Dean reach down to stroke his head, gently pushing his hair back, made him linger. His tongue-strokes and sinful kisses slowed, turning more passionate as a result of Dean's returning affection.

"Damn, you're good at this."

That's reassuring, Castiel thought. Considering he'd never really done much oral sex before, and to be honest, was more than a little nervous about not pleasing Dean. It was bad enough that they had the proverbial elephant in the room every time they fooled around, but to compound that with his own inexperience was a lot to absorb some days.

Working his way back up to Dean's heavy sex, he dragged his tongue up the side, and looped around to pull it into his mouth. The weight of it felt good, warm and solid. He loved when it responded to little things he did, like flick at the edge, or look up at Dean—the latter gaining the most reaction over anything else.

With his eyes on Dean, he sucked, and licked, moving his head around it, included his hand to stroke the base where his mouth couldn't reach—and he'd tried. But angel or not…there was physically too much. If Dean had been half an inch or so less in length, he could reach the base. But even going as far as he could, the plush head pressing against the back of his throat, there was still no way his lips could press all the way down. Maybe he just needed practice?

Giving a blowjob, he realized, was a messy adventure. But _very, very_ fun. When Dean seemed to ultimately relax, the moaning started; sexy, thick sounds spilling from Dean's throat. Much of the time it was a rumbly sound, and Castiel could feel it vibrate throughout his body.

Castiel slowed considerably when Dean began to mumble.

"N-n-no…wait. Shit. Don't wanna come in your mouth." Dean pulled at Castiel's hair—an unsuccessful attempt to get him to stop.

"Cas…seriously, I can't."

He pulled off to push aside Dean's concerns. "Everything's fine, Dean. Let go." And he went back, reaching between Dean's legs with his hand to finger him a little.

"Ffff-f-f- _fuck_ …oh god." Dean trembled—his mind fighting his body. His erection jumped between Castiel's lips, the colour of it a deep flush of red. Castiel had never seen him so hard, it almost looked painful.

Teasing Dean to the edge with his finger, he felt Dean tense up, clamping around him; both with his ass and his fist clutching a handful of Cas' hair.

But release didn't come for him.

"I can't, I can't…" Dean whimpered, his face broken into expressions of agony and discomfort.

Tightening his grip, he stroked slowly up and down the lower part of Dean's shaft and sucked at the tip with his lips and tongue. The spit and come that had dribbled down allowed him to press in a second finger. He glanced up, trying to convey his sheer want and acceptance of this. Dean's eyes darkened, but continued to shift focus from growing uncertainty.

Knowing Dean was too strung-out, memories combating the present, he smiled with his eyes and then wiggled his fingers in Dean playfully.

Dean let a breathless chuckle as the tension between them waned. Using this diversion, Castiel wasted no time in driving him to the edge, working his mouth and fingers in quick pumps, ensuring his fingers rubbed over Dean's prostate. Groaning around Dean, he watched the shock of the orgasm freeze his features, before the first rush of release left Dean gasping and blinking.

The come shot to the back his throat, followed quickly by a lot more. Dean's body jerked under him, hands in clenching fists in the air as though Dean had no idea what to do with them—probably not wanting to touch Cas for fear of pulling him off or pushing him down.

Cas eased off and swallowed everything, moving up quickly to kiss Dean's slack mouth, thinking it was probably good for Dean to get more of a taste of himself. He hummed against the pliant lips, working his tongue between them. The bitter aftertaste of come lingering throughout the kiss.

When he pulled back, Dean's eyes were still closed—as if he were scared to open them. Trying to not think about the possibility of Dean losing it over the fact that Cas had swallowed his come, he rubbed a finger across Dean's thin eyelid. So many different ways to touch, so many different parts to touch. He'd never get tired of touching Dean.

"I can feel your eyeball," he reflected.

Dean began to chuckle. First lightly, and then building into full on cackles. Having shoved Cas' hand off his face, he sighed to signify the end of his laughter. "God, I love you, ya' freakin' weirdo."

"You're very lenient with your use of 'I love you's'," he told Dean. "I like it."

"The weird thing is, I don't even think about anymore…just comes out."

Castiel smiled mischievously. "Yes, it did just… _come out_."

"Smartass." Dean smacked him on the stomach.

/\/\/\

_Jesus!_ Dean was still in recovery mode and Cas was throwing out innuendos. Between this and the pre-blowjob silly version of Cas, Dean was dumbfounded. Where had this light-hearted version of the angel been this whole time? There was so much friggin' joy in him, and innocence. The way his smile reached his eyes, and the way amusement creased his skin, was beautiful. Dean was in awe. He couldn't wait to watch the depth in those eyes change over the years. Because in them he saw Cas—his true self.

It was impossible not to be happy in the moment, even after that split-second of terror over shooting his load down Cas' throat. With an unstoppable force, Cas' joy wormed its way to him and all his fears got kicked out of his mind. And he realized he wanted to watch the flow of expressions pass over that face as Dean made love to him. It would be, in a way, the last big milestone of sex land-mines. And hopefully with it out of the way…they could let go of some of the ingrained tension that had stuck around.

He shifted down on the bed and pulled Cas with him, pressing the angel's head to his chest and began rubbing through his hair. The dishevelled look on Cas was most definitely better than anything else.

"So, when do you wanna get hitched, i.e. stuck with me forever?" he asked.

With a sigh, the reply came, "The sooner the better."

"Alright… How about tomorrow?" Might as well bite that bullet, Dean thought.

" _Really_?" Cas sat up and pegged him with disbelief.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, why not? Vegas it up or something."

Cas grinned that crinkly over-happy way that Dean loved, and breathlessly said, "Okay."

"We might have to fight our way in—lessers are everywhere. Even Vegas I hear," said Dean.

"I will gladly slaughter the undead walking down the aisle with you."

"If that ain't love, I don't know what is."

"Damn right." Cas then mashed their faces together in a zealous kiss, moaning and starting to grind against Dean. Evidently he was ready for more, or so Dean felt by the ridge digging against the concave part of his groin.

Dean phrased his next words with a wink. "I'd really love for my future husband to sex me up right now." Saying the word husband felt freakin' bizarre, and he was impressed he managed to get it out there without stuttering or stalling once.

"I vow to sex you up whenever you ask," Castiel answered, moving deftly against him, that tongue running a course from his mouth to his neck, all the while rolling their hips together.

An hour later, Dean was sated, and limp. Burying himself in the warmth against Cas' side, he started to drift off to sleep. With Cas' arm around his back, holding him close, Dean could only think: _Goddamn it's nice to be held._

_/\/\/\_

 

> _"So turn up the corners of your lips_  
>  _Part them and feel my finger tips_  
>  _Trace the moment, fall forever_
> 
> _Defence is paper thin_  
>  _Just one touch and I'll be in_  
>  _Too deep now to ever swim against the current_
> 
> _So let me slip away, so let me slip away..."_

 


	36. Take Me to Church

A knock at the door drew Dean's attention. "Come in!"

Sam walked through wearing a big grin, arms extended. "You ready?"

Snorting, Dean trampled over piles of clothes on his floor and made headway towards the closet—half ransacked. He was wearing dress pants, which were a little bit tight, and no shirt.

"Need some help?" his brother asked, deftly tiptoeing around mounds of fabric.

"I need a shirt and a tie…but all I have is fed clothes that don't really fit me all that well anymore. Fuck, I think I've put on like fifteen pounds in the last few months. And before you say anything—I don't really care, I don't! But we'll be on cases soon anyway, I need new clothes."

"Hey," Sam grabbed his shoulder since he'd been pacing. "Hold up. You bought that gray shirt two years ago that was too big, 'member? Probably still here somewhere. We just gotta find it."

Dean nodded and yanked off the belt he had on. It wasn't right. He found another and put that on.

A shirt was flung at his face, "Here, that one."

"Thanks, Sammy." He stuck his arms through the sleeves, and yeah this fit better. It wasn't the nicest…but it would do.

As Sam sat on his bed, waiting for him to be ready, Dean could tell a brotherly conversation of sorts was in the works. He was tying his tie when Sam finally spoke up.

"I wish mom were here."

Dean froze pulling the last loop over the front. He dropped his head, an image of her sprung to his mind. As always the memory was not without full senses; her always-warm hands when she would help him get dressed in the mornings, or get ready for bed. The loving smile she saved for him that was different than the one she gave their dad.

It amazed him how much it could still hurt. "Yeah." He huffed as a thought made itself known. "Wanna know something funny?"

"What?" asked Sam.

"I used to have this god-awful ceramic angel figurine in my bedroom as a kid. I asked mom about it once, cause ya know, it wasn't a cool thing to have as a little boy—not exactly an action figure. She just looked at me and said, ' _Angels are watching over you sweetie.'"_

Looking at his brother through the mirror, he saw the flash of pained jealousy. It was a sad reality that Dean had memories of her, and Sam didn't. At least not the way he did.

"She was right," said Sam.

"Guess so. Though, somehow, I doubt this was how she meant."

Sam laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I still can't believe that this is happening. I mean, you marrying Cas… It's great, man. Really."

"What can I say, I kinda like knowing that in some formal capacity he's stuck with me. I suppose that's selfish, but ya' know, I really don't give a shit."

Finally, he looked in the mirror. It was the same look as any other day. Even more now that his hair was styled the way he used to do it. He even ran over his beard a little with the electric razor, not too close, but enough that he was presentable. Dean decided not to tell anyone that the sound of the razor buzzing had nearly made him pass the fuck out. The suit was a run-of-the-mill Fed suit. Crappy fabric, crappy fit.

"God, he's an idiot." Dean said to himself.

Chuckling, Sam walked over. "Nah. _Well_ _…_ maybe a little." And they both laughed, heading out to leave.

For Dean's sanity, Cas poofed the four of them there, not wanting a long-ass drive to kill the vibe. Dean decided unanimously that Crowley was not invited. That being said, leaving him alone in the bunker for a bit didn't exactly sit well with any of them.

That was only one level of Dean's discomfort. The whole wedding thing was making him wildly twitchy: the formality of it, the processes, wanting it to be legal meant going in with Cas' fake ID, and they couldn't very well give him Winchester as the last name on that one, so they had to make one up, and Dean and Sam's nomad life with multiple false identities seemed to weigh on him now, having to figure out what the goddamn hell to write on application forms. Sure, yeah, the basics were there, but what the hell do they give as an address?

Vegas was supposed to be, ya know, lickity-split style weddings. Why the papers? Sam glared at him. "You need a license to get married."

"That's stupid. Hey Cas," he called over, "we know God personally, let's just make him do it."

Cas made a strange face and turned back to his conversation with Jody.

"Cas look nervous to you?" Dean asked Sam, bouncing his legs in his plastic seat outside the overdone god-awful chapel just beyond the main strip.

"No. But you sure as hell do. Everything okay?"

"Yeah." No.

"Dean," Sam pulled out the 'I'm-serious-Dean' voice.

Groaning, he gestured around them. "It's soooo… _eeeehk_! Ya know?"

"Hey, at least we found a part of town not overrun with lessers."

"Yeah, but, Sammy, there's a disco ball. I mean, fuck, this looks like something Gabriel would dream up."

Sam nodded, smiling. "Agree with you there. We're low on options. Listen, I'll finish filling this out, she said it's like a ten minute wait. Go talk to Cas. And relax."

Dean hopped up and briskly walked over, grabbing Cas by the elbow. "Can I steal you for a minute?"

Whatever conversation Jody and Cas had been having was a serious one, because before they drifted apart she squeezed Cas' arm as if offering comfort. _Great_. Dean could just imagine what had been said. Like, _sorry you're gonna be stuck with that psychologically demented loser._

"What's wrong?" Cas eyes went wide, taking in the hyper expression on Dean's face.

Dragging Cas behind him, Dean found a vacant closet full of decorations down the hall. He closed them into it—taking note of the comedic value there—and pulled Cas to him. He devoured the angel's mouth, finding the calm he knew he'd find in that slick, giving space.

They bumped back against some boxes, and the laughter that followed was goddamn sweet relief. "Ok, this is what I needed." Dean slumped, his shoulders finally relaxing as his arms worked tighter around Cas' body.

"So everything is okay? You're not…not having—

"No!" Dean smushed his lips hard against Cas' to make his point. "Not at all. Promise."

Castiel's eyes darted away, awash with guilt. Dean didn't get it until the angel began to speak. "You might be if you knew the truth."

Dean went numb. This-this was not happening. "Cas, what are you talking about?"

Backing away from Dean, Castiel began to pace, his face full of conflict. Dread filled Dean's heart, making the organ feel thick and useless. Christ, it felt like he was trying to push sludge through his veins.

"Cas, you gotta talk to me…I'm kind of losin' it over here." As it was, Dean started to drift back towards anything that might hold him upright. The hard edges of shelving met his upper back and ass, and he reached back to hold onto the thing.

Facing away, Cas rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. When he spun back and looked up he asked, "Why did you ask me to marry you? I need to know."

Easy enough. "Because I love you." Why the fuck else would he want to marry Cas? It's not like Dean was gonna get any bene's on filing his taxes. Heck, none of them even file taxes to begin with!

"That I understand…but you loved me anyway. Why marry me?" asked Cas, his tone beseeching.

Dean thought on this for a long minute. "Because in the world I grew up in, rituals mean something. And not for the fucking government or for God, but it means something to _me_ , and hopefully to you. This is me wanting more than the way we sort of fell together, I want the literal promise of forever. Take away all this," he indicated towards the gross over-commercialized concept of weddings, "and it's _basic_ … It's me wanting to be with you…forever. And after everything I've put you through over the years—the last eight months being the worst of it—I need to prove to you and myself that I can be more than what I was. Not just having a life outside of hunting, because honestly, I don't want to marry you and then live in suburbia and work some nine-to-five life, that ain't me. And I know that ain't you. You're what makes me happy Cas, and goddamn it, yeah, I want to make that official. Sue me, alright?"

Through his whole speech, Cas said nothing. Not reacting to a single word spoken.

"Dean, I want you to remember something. I want you to know that you're what matters to me."

He squinted, hearing the undefinable tone in Cas' voice. Stiffly, nervously, he said, "Okay."

Before heading back out, Dean felt that something was stuck between them, like grimy glass obscuring the outdoors. "Are we okay?" he had to ask. God, such a shitty thing to have to ask on their fucking wedding day.

Stretching up, Castiel gently pressed their lips together, his eyes closing softly. They breathed in through the kiss, a tender gesture to assure Dean everything was fine, or that it would be.

Even though he trusted Cas, Dean still dreaded heading back out there, hating that getting married had become all about the hoopla of it, and not about two people that loved each other and wanted to be something greater to each other, to formally promise to the one you loved that you were fucking in this. Come what may: Heaven, hell, nightmares, monsters, old-age, fucking erectile dysfunction! It didn't matter. Castiel had come barreling into his life, and nothing had really been the same since. And, now, after what had happened, nothing would ever be the same again. But at least, in promising forever, they'd found a way to exist in this horrific world and be happy.

The actual affair of it was quick and to the point, much to Dean's relief.

Catching him by surprise, Cas produced a ring for him. It wasn't the time to ask where it had come from, but judging by the texture and gleam, he suspected Cas had somehow melted down an angel blade.

Dimly, he wondered if he could punch angels in the face with it. That would be awesome. A nice wedding band, _AND_ a badass weapon. The token fermented his decision that marrying Cas was the best choice he'd ever made—despite the patches of secrets that were still stuck between them. Like rocks in a shoe, those would get kicked out eventually and they'd be smooth sailing. Where the trust and faith came from, Dean didn't know. Dammit, he was bordering on being proud of himself.

Dean barely heard the officiants babble. Instead, he found every sense he had was tuned in only to Cas. The second the ring was pushed onto his finger, he saw Cas glancing down, his eyes narrowing as an intriguing thought seemed to pass by. Dean wondered what he was thinking. Obviously not the time to ask, Dean filed the moment away for later.

Despite his reservations and former anxiety, their quirky hasty 'I-Do's' would become a memory he'd draw on for the rest of his life, though he hadn't known it at the time.

Truth be told, in the moment, he just wanted Cas to be his. It had nothing to do with a piece of paper really, but in knowing that this was _The Act_ —the ritual among human beings that defined a choice. In many ways, it was as much for himself as it was for them—something to prove he was more than a brute hunter who'd never cared for more than a quick lay.

"...and by your expressions, I'm sure I don't need to tell you twice, you may kiss your husband." Dean smirked; damn right he didn't need to be told twice.

The instant before their lips met, Dean hadn't expected to feel anything more than some modest joy from the kiss. But damn was he wrong.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It was like someone had dropped a lit match into his heart—chambers full of gasoline. He'd never admit it to anyone other than Cas how insanely happy he was in that moment. As a result, he went overboard with the kiss, dipping in some tongue, squeezing Cas hard against him. There may have been a little moan, too. Not a dirty one, mind you, just a really fucking delighted one.

The first Dean knew something was off was the moment they broke away, cheeks flushed, their smiles simultaneously dropped from a wide grin to a grimace. There was a palpable static in the air. And not the kind of electricity that came from taking a lick inside Cas' mouth.

_Something_ had happened _._

And by the look on everyone else's faces, including the stumped officiant, they'd all felt it too.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

With a smirk, Sam turned pointedly to Cas. Jody smiled softly, turning slyly away from Dean's penetrating stare.

A sudden prickly feeling at the back of his neck had Dean whipping around to the empty rows on the left. On what would be the "bride" side, sat motherfucking Chuck, known to many disgruntled angels as God. Before Dean could ask what the goddamn hell was going on, the room froze.

Literally.

The pudgy officiant, both Sam and Jody, their expressions—hopefully temporarily—preserved in a creepy stillness. The only moveable pieces were himself, Cas, and God.

"You've got to be kidding me! Whatever you want, asshole, I really, _really_ don't give a shit right now. You can take your bullshit and shove it back up where it belongs."

To his right, Cas stared but kept silent; his expression unreadable.

Chuck raised his hands in surrender. "Not here to ask anything of you, Dean. I'm here to congratulate you." God's focus ended on Cas. "I'm proud of you, Castiel."

Dean caught his new hubby clenching his teeth from the corner of his eye.

"You should go," Cas gritted out.

"I didn't mean to disrupt. I came to remind you that good things do happen."

"No thanks to you."

Chuck sighed. It was a mystery that this unassuming dude was God. Dean still didn't want to believe it. But he'd been up there in Heaven and felt it for himself.

"I wish you both unfettered, happy lives. I shall no longer have a part in it. Castiel, I know you don't plan to return to Heaven and I respect that. I fear the time has come for me to fully return. There's change in the world to come… Good change. I'm sure of that now."

He smiled at both of them, an sincere and honest expression if Dean had ever seen one. The image of Chuck gradually disappeared, and with a snap, everyone came back to life as if nothing at all had happened. The moment carrying on instantaneously with only Cas and Dean being aware of its interruption.

Dean looked at his angelic, newly-dubbed spouse. "What the hell was that all about? Pretty sure good ol' Daddy-Deity could've sent a fucking card."

"Do you still trust me?" was all Castiel asked in return.

"I just married you, so yeah looks like it. But my god, never make us hang with your family, cause that is soooo not happening."

"Umm, well, actually…Heaven has been repaired. The souls now have a final resting place not to be corrupted by the Omega any longer."

_What_? "How? I thought I had to do something." Dean demanded, confused. The minister on his right was eyeing them all with a heavy amount of suspicion.

Sam snickered from behind, slapping Dean on the back. "You just did, Dean."

What the fuck? "I'm so confused right now. Will someone please tell me what the goddamn fuck is going on?"

"Sir, I'd appreciate it if you didn't swear in my church." The officiant piped up after having been quieted and perplexed by their odd banter for the last few minutes.

_Church_?! Dean pegged the guy with a look. "First of all, _buddy_ , floating red hearts, a cross made of ribbons and a disco ball do not a church make. Second of all, you three, spill!"

Cas assertively met his eyes. "You, um, kind of had to marry me."

Nope, that can't be right, was Dean's first thought. "I'm not buyin' that hallmark crap, next theory?"

"It's not a theory Dean, I'm serious." Castiel said this with a frown.

Dean repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, each time thinking words would come, but they didn't. Sam and Jody came up on either side of him, they each wrapped an arm around him. Both of them were all smiles and it made him mad.

"He's right, Dean. Sam didn't believe it at first either," Jody said.

"I'm a little out of touch with my reopening of Heaven lore. Where exactly does it say that me marrying Cas is the cure-all for Metatron's spell?" he asked acidly. This was supposed to be a happy day, and now he was surrounded in this hideous place and bombarded with endless confusion.

Ignoring his question, Cas reached past Dean to zap Sam and Jody, presumably, back to the bunker.

The poof action made the officiant squawk. Castiel glanced once at the man, who looked near ready to piss himself. Sighing irritably, Cas touched a finger to the dude's head, dropping him to the ground.

"I hope he's sleeping, or we need to have a serious discussion about how you deal with annoying people."

Making a face at his comment, Cas moved in towards him and extended his hand, his expression turning serious, but mostly guarded. Dean suspected answers would follow if he took that hand. Standing there, dimly wondering how the hell getting married in some shithole in Vegas could have any relation whatsoever to Heaven, he realized he didn't care.

It still didn't make sense to him. Dean understood the Heavenly Host wanting to use him for their own means, plaguing his life consistently with negativity and near-death apocalypses, but _this_ _—_ right now—was good. Loving Cas was a _good_ thing! And over-thinking that would be taking away from the greatness of it. So, yeah—Fuck it. Dean decided not to give a shit.

Reaching out, he slipped his fingers into Cas' hand, meeting blue eyes.

"This is what matters right?"

The answering smile built up, starting with a twitch and ending with crinkles at the corners of Cas' eyes.

"Nothing else…" the angel agreed.

 


	37. Nirvana

The relief that Dean didn't hate him wasn't quantifiable. This secret had been wearing him thin, a fear that clouded every moment he had with Dean wondering if each memory would one day be viewed through a lens of loss.

The moment Dean took his hand, Castiel transported them to a place Sam had told him about back when Dean was unpredictable. A stocked cabin in the woods away from the world. It seemed a good place for them tonight.

Dean stood quietly, their hands still linked, as he took in the change in location.

"Now this is more like it," he commended.

Castiel had to agree. The poor excuse for a place where marital unions were made was too bright, too fake. The quiet of this cabin, with its warm colours, earthy smells, was much more appealing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Dean angled his head. "No. I really, really don't. Not 'cause I'm mad or anything—I'm not." Stepping closer, Dean let go of his hand and placed his palms against Castiel's cheeks.

"I trust you, Cas. You'll explain it all to me one day. But right now—" Moving in close, closing the gap between them, Dean whispered, "Now…I want to be with you."

Even with guilt weighing on him, Dean's husky voice made him instantly hungry for the lips so very close to his own. Close enough that he felt Dean's breath in his mouth already.

The last inch was erased with a needy inhale, moving in to attack each other. Between sloppy, frantic kisses, Castiel muttered apologies anyway. Each time Dean silenced him with a look.

Things would soon get carried away. And there was something Castiel needed to do first.

Breaking away from Dean, he mumbled needing a minute alone and transported himself outside. The air was thick with humidity here, the scent of the trees strong and unyielding. Still, he registered all this through his angelic senses, able to weed out individual components at will. He could break apart the molecules of scent, focusing on the acidity of pine needles, versus the more earthy nature of the bark, less dense in the air generally.

These were not things he would miss. The complexity was impersonal, and unrelatable. Releasing his angel blade into this dimension, he knew he had to hurry. He hadn't gone far enough from the cabin to keep Dean away for long, but enough that he could do this and the walk back wouldn't be excessive.

Why now? Dean would've asked. And Castiel wasn't sure if a single answer existed. Sometimes things felt right with no logical explanation.

Taking a deep breath, readying himself for the familiar pain, he sliced against his throat, cutting the skin of his vessel, but also the fabric of his true being. The pain of it was excruciating, more so as the grace poured out into the vial he'd brought. The sensation was like being drained of a life that once held you up, empowered you, leaving you scared and uncertain.

The fragility of being human he felt instantly. It took several steadying breaths before the lingering unrest of the act calmed, his heartbeat slowing gradually. He pocketed the grace, wondering what he'd do with it.

Absorbing the glorious collective scent of the forest and the dim sounds of scurrying life, he walked back to the cabin. The light of the day was still high in the sky as he made his way over the burnt-orange pine needles, the hard-packed earth under his feet. The few ferns scattered about brushed against his dress pants, and Castiel could feel the warm trickle of blood seep down his throat, but he didn't care. The closer he got to the cabin—to the beginning of forever with Dean—the happier he became.

Dean was pacing the porch when he came into view. Stopping, it took a fraction of a second for Dean to know what he'd done.

They both seemed to hold their breath, but then Cas smiled, starting to laugh. "I suppose it would have been more prudent to wait until we had a car"—he laughed some more—"I've stranded us."

Dean's own lopsided-grin slipped out. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Moving into the cabin, they headed over to the woodstove and silently worked together to get it going—yet another task that would have been easier with his grace. That said, Dean did most of the work anyway. When the licks of flame spit and crackled, the thick iron doors were closed over, and a knob turned open for the allowance of oxygen. The warmth was quick to fill the room. It hadn't been necessarily cold, but there was the unspoken reality that they'd both be naked soon enough.

This time, no angel was around to heal the wound created by ripping out his own grace, so blood had oozed down to his collar. With the first aid kit in hand, Dean pulled Cas to the couch in the centre of the large room set a short distance from the stove.

Moving to sit beside his new husband, Dean tsk'd, grabbing for the backs of his knees, guiding Castiel into his lap. Splitting his thighs over Dean's hips, he felt a heat build in the pit of his stomach. It was made worse when Dean shifted, his muscles hardening and causing friction.

Neither of them said a word while Dean cleaned the cut. Castiel found each swipe of the damp cloth to be nearly as sensual as the expansion of Dean's chest under his hands. Once a band-aid was peeled and stuck on him, he thought Dean might say something. Instead, the silence lingered, heavy between them, causing his arousal to gradually climb higher.

Listless green eyes shifted down, narrowing at the sight of Castiel's ruined shirt beneath his worn trenchcoat—having decided to wear it for the wedding knowing that for endless and unnameable reasons it meant something to both of them.

Slipping his hands into the jacket, Dean pushed it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. Next, his suit jacket, and then the tie—also ruined with a smear of blood. And finally, Dean untucked his shirt from his pants and undid each button, working from the bottom.

Dean sat there looking up at him, a sort of earnest glory somehow captured in a relatively still expression. Without straying from Dean's stare, he began to undress the man beneath him. Necessary shifting during this had a breath-stealing effect. One that reminded Castiel how badly he wanted their pants gone.

When they started to kiss, it was unhurried. Slippery tongues pressed together in a building crescendo that made him feel heavy. He began to drag himself back and forth in Dean's lap, the rise in his passion so gradual that it wasn't all that noticeable at first, but then suddenly he was gyrating vigorously, and panting. His skin flushed hot, his pants chafing. The fabric like sandpaper against his thighs.

Dean's lips were a soft contradiction from everything else, slick and plush, moving with him and opening for him. Awareness of his surroundings seemed to come and go in passes. He could feel Dean's hands gripping the back part of his pants, urging his movements deliciously onward. Distantly, he heard the old couch creaking as they rocked together and the low crackles of the lively fire. Though it all seemed muffled compared to the sound of Dean's rough breaths, loud and hungry for oxygen in the seconds they came apart, only to angle and adjust and go right back for more.

This feeling; the ability of the human mind to be so easily clouded by touch and physical reactions was addictive. Cas thought he might drown in it and never come back.

Dean shifted on the couch, moving them to the edge. The disruption of rubbing and kissing was disorienting to the point that he could hardly tell which way was up or down. Even worse when Dean said: "Put your legs around me."

Awkwardly, he did, hooking his ankles behind Dean's back; their groins pushed together that little bit more and a low groan rose out of him.

Dean stood them up and walked them to the bed to the left of the woodstove. Letting Cas' weight slide lower but not letting go, they used their combined strength to rub together. It wasn't easy, what with his arms pulling on Dean's neck, Dean's hands digging against his skin to drag him up and down in a torrent of choppy, discordant moves. It didn't occur to him—or Dean apparently—that the whole adventure would be much more gratifying laying down and naked.

Hoisting himself higher, Castiel sucked the soft part of Dean's ear into his mouth, eliciting thick, throaty sounds from the man of his attention. The sensation of coarse, short facial hair scraped against his cheek and neck, sending shivers rippling down his spine—directly to his ass.

"Hmm, that-that feels nice," he whispered, smiling against Dean's throat.

Leaning back, he continued to smile at Dean and pushed off to land on his feet. Not wasting time, he grabbed for Dean's dress pants and deftly undid the clasp and zipper with excellent speed. Leaving Dean there in tight boxers, Cas dashed over to his forgotten jacket on the floor and retrieved a necessary item, tossing it onto the bed before getting back into a warm, waiting embrace. The embrace of his spouse, his partner, his husband. Dean was _his._

The fire had put the room into a sweltering state. Because of this, it was an immense relief when they got down to skin and nothing else. Both of them sighing and rejoicing in the air that flowed over their overheated bodies.

Wearing a broad grin and nothing else, he approached Dean's body with a list in his mind of everywhere he wanted to touch and kiss. Wondering just how different it would be with his basic human senses. What would Dean taste like? What would his breath feel like in certain places? These were mysteries that he would spend the rest of his life uncovering.

Dean's hands passed over his skin in aimless patterns, his gaze contemplative. For a long moment Castiel simply watched, his eyes following the movements of Dean's palms and fingers trailing across muscle and bone, following the natural lines and slopes of his shape. Every so often, green eyes would turn up to him and though he was now nothing more than human, he saw Dean's soul the same as he always had.

Reaching out to Dean, he brushed his fingers across Dean's cheeks and lightly traced the curve of his ear, framing his familiar face. Leaning in close, Castiel pressed a soft kiss to Dean's mouth and progressed lower, down the side of his throat. Across the hard line of his collarbone and over the curve of his shoulder, remembering the imprint of his hand seared across the skin. By the way Dean shivered, Cas imagined Dean's mind was filled with old memories of when they first met. When he reached the centre of Dean's chest, he kissed there and then tilted his head back to find Dean gazing down at him.

Casting a significant look downwards, Castiel asked, "May I?"

Dean stroked himself, nodding his approval and licking across his lower lip. Enthralled, Cas fell to his knees on the unforgiving floor and sank Dean fully into his mouth, moaning low at the distinctive taste of him. Considering his newly human gag reflex, Castiel may have been slightly overzealous. Nonetheless, it didn't take long to adjust, forcing his mind to ignore the strange sensation in the back of his throat. He sucked at Dean's cock until his jaw hurt, pausing twice to pull Dean—sometimes unwillingly—from the brink of release. He did _not_ want either of them finishing just yet.

They had all night…

 _Actually_ , they had forever. 

/\/\/\

"—Jesus Christ!" Sam screeched, having turned from the computer to find Death standing two feet behind him.

"Quite the greeting. Nice to see you too, Sam."

"What are you doing here?" And more importantly… how the hell did you get in? Sam wondered, grateful that Jody was out with Crowley.

"I hear you've met my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Sam looked at Death curiously. "You mean the Gatekeeper? That's—She's yours?"

"All beings are once young and stupid, humans are not alone in that," Death droned as he moved to sit in the chair near him.

"Good to know," replied Sam.

Despite Death kicking back in a chair a couple feet away, Sam felt relatively at ease with his presence. The guy had come when Sam was on the edge of life and he'd been proud of the way Sam had lived it—whether that still held true, he didn't know—but regardless, he didn't fear the Big Daddy Grim Reaper the way he once had.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here."

"Yeah… kinda," Sam smiled.

"I'm here for the young man's body, Cale Harden."

Shit. "Seriously? What are you gonna do with him? "

"Bring him to his final resting place where nothing or no one will be able to wield his death for destruction."

"And where's that?"

Instead of an answer, he got a glare and a raised eyebrow. "Okaaay. Why should I trust you? He was our friend. And for all we know you could be spell-bound by some monster. Or worse…the Omega."

" _Ugh_. That pathetic imbecile has no powers over me, I assure you. How he's become as powerful as he is, I'll never understand. He's nothing more than a cockroach that even the heaviest of boots fail to squash dead."

With a sigh, Death continued, "Listen, Sam, I'm here to help. Take it or leave it. I promise you he'll be at rest and without fear of anything bad coming of what he's done. The inscriptions on his skin are dangerous here."

Sam perked up. "It's the way to unlock Hell, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Shouldn't his body be destroyed, then?"

"What a simple solution that would be, were it possible. Every spell, as you've seen, every supernatural act, has some form of undoing. But there are trade-offs, balances that must be kept. The spell that is now his body, if enacted, would cause havoc in this world—I'm sure you can imagine. But as such, unfortunately, the body remains."

"Do I have any choice?"

Death grinned. "You always have a choice, but I think we both know what your answer will be."

"That's that then."

"That is that, Sam Winchester."

Death rose to leave when Sam jumped out of his chair, needing to ask the question.

"If I'd summoned you, asked you about Cas and Dean and Heaven—would you have given me the truth?"

"No I would not. God," he said disdainfully, "has his stories, like a small child. Unfortunately for me, I'm affected by his prophetic romanticized tales perhaps even more than you. Did it not all work out?"

Sam smiled. "I guess it did."

"Well then, you must be pleased I did not take you away before."

"I am now, yeah."

"Perhaps next time," Death teased as he disappeared.

Curious, Sam raced down to the bunker's morgue. Wrenching the suctioned steel chamber open, he found it—not surprisingly—empty.

"Huh."

Walking slowly back upstairs, his mind turned over the last year, from the fall of the angels, to his death and life as an angel-ride. To Dean leaving...and the aftermath of that night.

The bunker was empty and too-quiet but he moved through the halls knowing that it was fuller and more home that it had ever been before.

They'd lived year after year in shitty motels and the Impala. They've been burned by love, their faith in the good getting tested and beat down time and time again. It took unparalleled tragedy to get them here. For the first time in a very long while, Sam felt sure of their future—all of their futures.

Even Crowley, he grinned, making his way into the library finally.

/\/\/\

Strung-out, a little dazed, Dean stared down at the dark head of hair between his legs, and thought, holy crap, that's my friggin' husband _._ It astounded him more that he was married than the fact that he'd married a guy. Besides, Cas didn't exactly fit the mold for your typical male. Sure all the right parts were there, even the ridiculously deep voice that Dean felt right down into the centre of his chest. But Cas was made up of more than outward appearances, and Dean saw it all. And he loved it all.

Closing his eyes, he mapped out where tonight would go. He knew what Cas wanted. Could see it written in those eager blue eyes, practically sparking with anticipation. Any other time, he might've laughed, maybe teased Cas a little. But not tonight.

There was no question that he'd deliver. Despite his fears, he wanted it just as bad. Whatever anxiety remained in him would have to shut the hell up for tonight because, rationally, he knew that it was _allowed_. Yes, images would assault him, and yes he might go way too slow and too gentle for what Cas might prefer, but goddamn it, this was their wedding night and there was no way Dean wasn't gonna make love to this man.

After his knees had gone weak, he'd sunk down to the bed, as he was now, with Cas hunkered down between his thighs. Slipping his fingers into the mess of Cas' hair, he stroked and scratched, and watched. The wet suction of Cas' mouth, the captivating view of him bobbing up and down brought Dean to the edge more than once. Each rush towards the peak was as wonderful and aggravating as being parched and only having the ocean to look at.

Soon, he couldn't handle it any more. If Cas brought him up a third time, he would be gone. Palming Castiel's cheeks, Dean eased him off, pulling the now human over him, laying back onto the bed.

Cas settled on him wearing this stupid grin, made all that much better by swollen red lips and a wild head of hair; the product of Dean's mussing.

"Damn, I'm lucky…" he thought out loud.

Dropping his forehead to Dean's, Cas laughed. "Based on your life's events, I highly disagree, but I think I know what you mean." And then those puffy lips pressed against his own; warm, soft, and tasting of himself. It didn't upset him the way it used to.

It was amazing that something so simple could feel so good. How was it that Dean Winchester was reduced to mush with a kiss? It seemed crazy… Especially after the extreme torments his body had been put through. It was a goddamn wonder that he could still appreciate the little shit. And not just appreciate it, but relish in it.

Cas' body was cooler as a human—making Dean realize just how unnaturally too-warm he'd been before. On the plus side, his newbie human spouse was definitely easier to distract than before. Every time Dean tickled down the length of his spine, Cas would shudder and squirm. It quickly became one of Dean's favourite things to do.

After long minutes of unhurried stroking between them, and deep, borderline raunchy kisses, he rolled Cas over onto his back. The once-angel's thighs split open for him without hesitation. It shocked Dean, even after everything they'd made it through, that Cas would just…open up for him like that.

Dean kissed his face in gentle presses as he moved smoothly over Cas in a teasing wave. There was never a still moment; too much need and passion ruling them to leave a moment for a real breath. They couldn't hold back from touching each other; fingers flowing over the curves of muscle, palms moving to frame the other's face.

It was a long time before they moved on to anything more intense. As always, Cas was the insistent one, gently (but not at all discreetly) nudging Dean's hand down between his legs.

Shaking his head, Dean laughed. "Okay, okay, I get the point."

"Sorry, but…I, umm, I want you. _Bad_." Cas made his case more pronounced by rolling up under Dean, a rough extended _please_ passing over his lips.

 _Goddamn_ , did that ever sound good to Dean's ears.

Moaning and all sorts of eager, he lowered and stroked into Cas' mouth, rolling his hips in time with his tongue. Dean continued to kiss with everything he had, moving his hand down to stroke and grasp Cas' ass and down the back of his thigh, gripping behind his knee and dragging his leg up tight against Dean's side. Cas writhed against him, groaning wantonly into his mouth. It didn't matter what Dean did to relieve the pressure, his man was nearing profound desperation, the familiar body blindly seeking greater stimulation. It was beautiful to see Cas strung out this way, body twisting and hard, letting Dean be the one to take control of his pleasure.

"Cas, babe, relax for me," he breathed against Cas' ear. The only response he got was a loud, swift exhale and the feel of Cas pushing his hips up.

Each move, every touch, Dean approached cautiously for his own sanity. Slicking up his fingers, teasing Cas' rim with gentle nudges, pushing inside slow and committing to memory the feel of Cas' heat taking him in. All the while, he examined Cas' face, cataloging every blink, watching his mouth hinge open, gasping for air when Dean eased in a second finger.

Using one arm to hold himself poised, he started to tremble, his intensity in watching Cas' reaction strained him. As if he were racing around a track at break-neck speed, his reaction time was on high alert, ready to stop at a moment's notice if what he saw below him was anything like what he'd seen before. Those telling creases that spoke to a grimace, or a sudden strike of pain. Or a grunt that said 'ow' instead of 'more'.

"I won't break," Cas told him. He felt Cas' thumb brush over his lips in a sort of kiss and the action took him down a notch but not all the way.

"But I might," Dean replied honestly, continuing to go too slow for Cas' overall enjoyment. It wasn't easy, seeing the tension on the once-angel's face, the banked desperation that he must know to keep quiet. It hurt his pride some that he couldn't go all out and blow Cas away with stellar love-making, the kind that would drive Cas wild. With his fingers gently stretching Cas to accept him with ease, he vowed, with a hard suck of Cas' neck, that he would make it up to him one day.

When the time came, his cock primed and pressed close to Cas' body, Dean started to lose focus on the moment, his breaths rushing faster and his mind beginning to spin.

Pausing to take a long inhale, he lowered his forehead down, resting on Cas, their faces pressed together. "I know, Cas," he argued preemptively. "Just let me rest here a minute." As he laid there and focused only on pulling air into his lungs, it didn't escape his awareness that the heat he felt against the tip of his cock was the tight entrance to Cas' body. They were both slippery; grazing together and all he had to do was push.

Below him, Cas didn't say a word, allowing Dean to work his way through the moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, kissed Cas hard on the mouth, sucking in the man's gloriously husky scent and went for it.

Dean must've blacked out, because he was suddenly there—buried to the hilt. A snug fit, with Cas' body taking a minute to absorb the shock of it. After all, he'd been an angel before, so this had to feel a little different.

 _Fuck_! Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Hopefully _a lot_ fucking different! _Considering…_

Lifting and trying to clear his head, he pegged Cas with intense examination. "All good?"

Unperturbed, Cas smirked and kissed the corner of Dean's mouth. "Absolutely, are you?"

Sure, he could've lied. But even newly human, Cas would've seen through it. "Honestly, kinda weirded out. But I'll get over it."

Trying to do just that, Dean started to move; slow and gradual. The feeling of Cas' inner walls sliding against him, that tight ring of muscle gripping him hard, Dean went suddenly nauseous and had to concentrate and try to reset his brain somehow in order to break away from the past.

"Open your eyes," said Cas. The familiar voice sounding far away.

Dean had no recollection of closing his eyes at all. Maybe this would be more difficult than he'd thought. "Cas, please talk to me. I need to hear you."

"Move, Dean. Everything is perfectly fine." Castiel cupped his face and fiercely met his eyes, encouraging him, displaying his trust.

Keeping locked on that fiery stare, Dean drew back, his slicked cock moving inside all that heat and pressure. Pushing back in, shaking, he saw Cas' eyes flutter, that full mouth falling open. Repeating the motion a second time was easier. The third time he felt a tingle run down the length of his spine.

"You sure you want me?" he asked, falling closer together, his balls pressing up against hot skin.

"Every inch of you," Cas answered with a grin.

Dean managed to chuckle. The atmosphere in the room seemed to loosen; the claws of his past letting go of him just a little more. Easing his cock in and out, the two of them sinking together, bodies meeting and separating in an ever-continuous wave, Dean was surprised to realize that the thick moans and soft whimpers were coming from him. The better formed " _Mmm's_ " and " _Yesss's,_ " were all Cas.

In the far recesses of his mind, the former atrocious scene played itself out, complete with the running commentary of Abaddon's voice, but he ignored it the way you can ignore a TV playing low from an adjacent motel room. It's there, but the detail is muffled. The memory wouldn't go away, and he just hoped to—well, not _God_ —but some higher power, that it wouldn't always be this way. Dean decided that if he amassed enough good memories, maybe the old would get squeezed into the dark corners of his past and though they'd never leave, they wouldn't control him either.

Dean sank in deep and said, "I love you." The words alone making his erection kick with a flare of liquid arousal. To his sheer delight, Cas' body responded with a distracting spasm of its own.

"M _mm_ …I love you too," answered Cas breathlessly.

Those long runner's legs locked around Dean's hips, and smooth arms stretched back over the mattress, accidentally shoving the pillow there onto the floor. It landed with a thump and Cas smiled, fully stretched out under him.

Damn, thought Dean, when the hell had his luck gone from shit nothin' to full-up with every damn thing he'd ever wanted out of life? Part of him feared and questioned its reality. But with Cas there gazing up at him, eyes innocently giving him away, Dean had to believe it was all true.

Dipping his head low wearing a silly, over-excited grin he sucked a mark on Cas' throat, licking across the reddened skin, tasting salt and the faint hint of copper from blood pumping too close to the surface. He paused on a kiss, breathing in their mixed scent—all sweat and sex—feeling Cas' beating pulse tapping away under the skin.

There it was: Life. _Real honest-to-goodness life_.

As Cas began to squirm without inhibition, his ragged groans turning into whimpers, every inhale getting chopped up with gasps, it all made Dean realize how alive Cas was. In a way he never quite saw before. It was breathtaking to see it there, all for him. Whispering into the hollow of Cas' ear, Dean laid out a prayer of endless promises and devotions.

Kissing up over towards Cas' slack mouth, Dean adjusted his pace, his angle, and dragged himself out painfully slow, all the way out. Cas outright whined, and Dean smiled, pushing back in nice and slow, driving them both mad as he kept it up. Slow out, slow in. Inch after inch of salacious torment. Maybe he didn't need speed and power to turn Cas into a mess of want. Maybe this was enough. Maybe _he_ was really enough. A radiance of warmth spread through his chest, and Dean thought, _yes_ , I am enough.

Reaching over Cas' head, Dean slotted their fingers together and braced his weight, snaking his other hand down between them and started to stroke the familiar erection, a perfect weight in his palm. This was where Cas' was warmest—at least on the outside. They were close enough that he could press Cas' cock up against himself and stroke and move at the same time, letting his sweaty abs create friction on the underside.

"Kiss me." Cas whimpered, turning his face up.

Dean did, sinking into that wet mouth, his eyes closing—overcome with a feeling that his chest was about to burst. The hum of low moans tickled his lips, causing his mouth to stretch into a proud grin. Cas returned the sentiment; their noses bumping as they stared at each other, the world feeling dizzy. Blue eyes shone up at Dean, the heat in them undeniable and yet still so bright with emotion that it trumped all the bad feelings he had buried inside of himself.

"We're okay," he whispered between them, both in reassurance and in awe.

"Mmm, yes, _yes_ , more than okay," Cas answered, his voice husky and thick.

Breathing heavy, broken kisses marking the time, Dean languorously rode them closer to release; to the point where his awareness reduced to sensations. To the stroke of himself moving in and out, the hot clench of Cas' body around him, the two of them riveted to each other, the intensity and passion of it so commanding that at times they'd forget to breathe.

 _"Dean!"_ Cas' deep blue eyes flared wide a split-second before Dean felt the tremors rock through him. Rutting in deep, he brought them together as tight, as full as he could, shaking into the connection. In a crashing wave of stimulus, Cas began to spasm around his cock, clinching tight. The thick sex held in Dean's fist jerked and shot warm jets of come onto his hand and both their chests. It was too much...

Feeling Castiel twitch and shudder under him pushed Dean over the edge, following in seconds after Cas' orgasm had claimed his senses. Surprising both of them, he didn't pull out as he'd originally planned. Instead, with acute precision, Dean rode out the pulses; each gush of pressure hitting him so strong that it nearly hurt. As he emptied into the man he loved, Dean was blindsided with a sense of honor. The pleasure of coming together fell over him the way a hot blanket does; warm and heavy, leaving him sweltering and full of shivers at the same time.

Breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest, he laid motionless over Cas, not wanting to leave the warmth. He didn't think he could feel any better, but then Cas began stroking his head, pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. It felt fucking amazing.

Dean moaned and thrust in once, both of them losing themselves to an aftershock. "Just gonna stay right here," Dean said, a wide smile stretching his face.

Cas chuckled under him and said, "Okay."

The lazy hair playing turned into a tight hug, mixed with some lovey-dovey kisses and contented little sighs. Cas was blissed out; the man's body limp, legs starting to droop in a way that pushed Dean out.

 _Nuh-uhn_. Dean shifted up on the bed, digging himself back in. "Not yet."

Making a gruff noise of agreement, Cas wrapped his legs around Dean and began to kiss his mouth in earnest. The liquid heat of his mouth matched the corresponding grip around Dean's softening erection. Oh man, he could fall asleep pretty damn easy right now. Waking up would probably be a bit gross though.

Groaning, already dreading the sense of loss, he pulled out.

And _yup_ …he hated it.

Embracing his craving for some serious cuddling, he wrapped around Cas like a magnetized octopus, and Cas, the perfect angel and husband that he was, exactly returned the gesture, chuckling low against Dean's ear as they rolled onto their sides.

They tangled and twisted to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable; faces squashed so close they were likely reduced to a steady stream of CO2. Not that he cared. Christ, he'd die happy. Instead of a pillow, he had Cas' bicep. And instead of a body pillow he had Cas' leg right up between his. And who needs blankets when you have warm arms around you and a chest sweatily stuck to your own? In all his life, Dean couldn't remember a single time he'd cuddled this ridiculously with anyone. Despite the odd lumps of body that dug into various parts of him, he dimly began to hum his contentment—squeezing, and rubbing, and sighing like a dumbass. Every square inch of him tingled in a way he never imagined, and it felt fucking damn good.

As though Cas could still tap into his thoughts, he said, "I feel tingly."

Dean huffed a snort of a laugh. "Mm-hmm."

Laying there, all Dean had to do was purse his lips and they were _that_ close that he was able peck Cas' pliable mouth. Which he did…several times. Getting sloppier and sloppier as drowsiness pulled him under.

"Dean?" he heard Cas say in a feather-light voice, half on the way to sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks…for loving'm 'nough to t'marry me," Cas slurred, eyes closed.

Smiling with the lift of one corner of his mouth, he answered quietly, "Thanks for sayin' yes."

With one last kiss, nearly falling asleep attached to Cas' face, Dean hummed and checked out for the rest of the night.

/\/\/\

The next morning, Dean woke in the middle of a stretch, his arms and legs shaking out kinks as they brushed against warm skin to his left. A soft disgruntled mumble made him smile and he shifted sideways to open his eyes.

"Hey," he sighed, tucking in closer.

They'd drifted apart in the night for some fresh air. Otherwise, both of them would have overheated for sure.

"Dean," answered Cas dreamily. It was damn adorable.

The drowsy lull in Castiel's eyelids caught Dean's attention and he found himself reaching through the sheets to find some skin, watching those lids droop and flutter.

"Do you think we'll really be okay?" he wondered idly, his mind skirting around so many possible disasters as he felt up his husband through the sheets. The morning sunlight peaked through the trees out front and danced across Cas' skin. Dean decided there wasn't anything more beautiful. 

In a smooth response, as if he possessed some great secret, Cas smirked at him, licked his lower lip and said, "Yes. I think we're going to be great."

"You seem pretty damn certain, Cas. I gotta say, past experience says otherwise."

"And yet, husband of mine, despite the past, here we are; in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Naked. Both of— _yes_ —both us very much ready to get down to business… If you know what I mean." Cas winked.

With a snort and a grin, Dean said, "Yeah, Cas. I know what you mean."

In the end, however, Dean had to agree. Of all the bad shit that happened, of all the times he'd thought he was done for, or that he couldn't bear the injustice of his life another goddamn minute—this was where he'd ended up: In love…in bed…naked…and married to Cas.

Even in his most daring adventures into optimism, he'd never considered this a real possibility. For the first time, in his whole shitty life, Dean had fresh hope for the future. And damn, did that ever feel good.

Ooh, _fuck_. Speaking of things feeling good—

"Mmm, yeah, keep doing that…"

 


	38. Epilogue - Five Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years into being married to Cas, Dean reminisces over their time together. And though they end up on a hunt for this monumental occasion, they make time to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the last bit of this story. :) Love you all!

A whole five years, he reflected. Amazed by the achievement of something so mundane.

Sitting at the edge of a motel bed, Dean waited for his brother, Jody, and Cas to return from their respective research assignments of their current case. Marrying Cas had not made either of them home-bodies, that was for damn sure. Dean wasn't the sit-idly-by kind of man, not even as he got older. Every single person they saved was a notch on the plus side that he still desperately needed after all this time. There was a running tally going for him: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

If he were a sports stat, he was still way in the negative. But each hunt brought him a little closer. And with that, he felt a new measure of peace somewhere inside he might think was the worn construction of his soul.

Fortunately, successful hunts weren't the only way to achieve a new check-mark in the plus column—every time he made Cas smile, or elicit from him that hitching-choppy-breath thing during sex, or ease the angel into sleep with a stellar massage—all of that, too, gave him peace. Or at the very least, unparalleled happiness that settled him like nothing else.

Today, remarkable as it was, happened to be their anniversary. And how damn crazy was that? Dean had to admit, he was pretty good at the whole married thing. Complete with expected bumps along the way. Of course, he still had wicked nightmares, and occasionally freaked out during sex, or on a particularly rough hunt, but overall he'd reached the best place possible given his past.

He and Sammy made time to go have beers together, and had real conversations, and all that healthy shit. It was a miracle. He wondered at times if all that shit hadn't gone down with Abaddon, whether he and Sam would've ever been this close. Following that line of thought, would he and Cas be friggin' married?

Probably not.

God, just imagining not being able to touch Cas anytime he wanted would be hard. And worse, having to hide his adoration with every side glance would be a trial all its own.

In that first year, Cas had eventually told him everything. Starting with Cas' own conversation with God the night Dean had died, the plan set in place to fix Metatron's spell, and how hilarious it was that Chuck was such a freaking sap. They could laugh about it now, but once in a while, between Dean and Sam, they reflected on what a close call it had all been.

Dean doing the married gig? Shit, anyone who'd known him at all would have said it was a long shot. Cas was different, though. Always had been.

Like a great big cosmic circle, they were back in Cincinnati where Dean had been when he'd gotten wasted and collapsed in the alley, mere blocks from where they were now. The night Cas had gotten inside him the first time, in a very non-porno kinda way.

How nice of the monsters to make their anniversary so perfect, right?

It was too bad they were stuck in the middle of a case for it, but work was work, and when lives were at stake it wasn't like they could take a vacation whenever the damn hell they wanted.

When the hunting business was slow, Sam and Jody tended to take off by themselves for a week or two and Dean was thrilled to see his baby brother so happy, living life the fullest a hunter can. Over the years, Sam had gradually eased into Bobby's old role, becoming a hub for hunters and jobs, and even the go-to call for fake FBI managers.

He and Cas on the other hand were a heck of a lot more low-key. They hunted, and they went back home and spent downtime together in between. Dean hated to fly, and Cas had seen the world many times over so their desire to travel was pretty well non-existent.

Instead, they watched movies—Dean finding it endlessly entertaining to introduce the guy to things he'd never seen before, or urge him to read books that Dean had loved when he was younger.

They no longer felt the weight of the greater supernatural world around them, but were simply a cog in the never-ending mechanics of crazy and weird that he now recognized as inevitable in its endlessness. And after five years of daily love and support, Dean was happier with himself than he'd ever thought possible.

Dean let his mind drift, thinking back on his relationship with Cas, and each amazing anniversary they'd celebrated from then until now.

…

The first anniversary, Cas had taken him fishing, commenting that after their shared dream, he thought it was important they partake in the real thing. At a rented cottage by a lake, they spent a couple days drinking beer and sitting on a dock with lines in the water. It was there he taught Cas how to swim in the still icy waters of May. Cold swimming had led to warming up…which lead to forgetting about the dropped lines and ultimately losing the fishing rods that got pulled into the water. Regardless, the next morning, they'd woken with sore limbs and crusty bedsheets and couldn't care less about the forgotten activities of the previous day. They spent the day eating good food, watching old movies, and making out with slow, building passion.

In the serene comfort of the evening, with crickets curving the quiet, the two of them had sat on the screened in porch and chatted easily about lore, debating the best methods for kills. It was that night that Cas tried to teach Dean a little more Enochian. By their fifth anniversary, he would be fluent.

When the flow of their conversation slowed and their eyes lingered, Dean decided to bust out his real gift. He was nervous as he walked out to the car to grab his guitar from the backseat. During his recovery, one tune had stuck with him, had supported his path forward and over the long year and a bit since then, he'd perfected his performance of it. Cas deserved nothing less.

Castiel's shadowed blue eyes followed his movements as he climbed back up the porch steps and stepped through the spring-hinged door.

They didn't say a single word to each other, a sole look enough to convey the emotion between them. Dean unclipped the case and sat down on the chair placed at an angle to Castiel's place on the porch swing. It was pleasantly amusing when Cas drew his knees up and rested his feet on the edge of the seat, as though he were getting himself all comfortable for Dean's performance.

Checking each string to ensure every note was perfectly tuned, he glanced down at the ground—for a moment trying to see past the wood, the dirt, the crust of the earth to the space below. Adjusting his position, placing his hands and fingers in the right places, he raised his face and met Cas' eyes.

"We both know I was never really all that good with words, so, I'm going to sing to you. And, uh, I hope I'm not awful." Dean smiled, knowing that Cas would love whatever he did anyway because that was Cas.

As he kicked off the opening riff, a soft placement of high and low notes that rang beautifully in the air, he was practiced enough that he could watch Cas' reaction instead of what his fingers were doing. The former angel's eyes fluttered as he took in the music, and his attention shifted between Dean's face and the confident way he played the instrument.

Pouring every aspect of himself into the song, he began to sing: "So close, no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are…and nothing else matters…"

The song flowed and increased its presence between them, his strumming growing louder, his voice a deep smooth addition to the song. There wasn't a lot Dean Winchester was proud of himself for, but this was definitely one of the things he was. All the hours spent ensuring the pitch and timing of his singing was just right, and that each chord and each note was exactly as it should be.

"Never opened myself this way… Life is ours, we live it our way." Dean smiled as he played. "All these words I don't just say, and nothing else matters."

On the seat across from him, Cas had rested his chin on his knees and was smiling in a gentle way that he found utterly breathtaking. The song slowed to the end and Dean wondered, not for the first time, how he'd managed to gain such happiness.

That night, on the creaky, wooden porch floor on a pile made up of every blanket the cottage had, Cas made love to him with exquisite patience. Building his arousal to a tender apex of desperation, kissing him with a sinful tongue, lapping into his open mouth as Cas moved between his legs in a mind-blowing pattern of snappy thrusts, and slow, dragging fucks that left Dean breathless.

…

The second year they'd had to stick around for a hunt, which had turned out to be ghouls and a serious close call for Dean. There was a scar still on the inner part of his right arm from where one of them had successfully snagged a bite. Needless to say, Castiel and Sam had rescued him—both of them taking obvious pleasure in obliterating the thing.

After that, it was all about making sure Dean was okay, and normal anniversary good times sort of got shoved to the side in favour of ensuring he wasn't hopping back on the crazy train. Granted, holing up in bed for basically an entire day will sort of give that impression. Thankfully, twenty-four hours of resetting his neurotic levers and buttons was all he'd needed. That and a little Dr. Phil time with Sam.

A week or so after that particular anniversary, Dean had been rummaging through his pile of crap on the desk in his room and found a worn book about possession that had fallen behind the desk and gotten lost among the wires, waste bin, pens, and dust that had collected. Tucked in the middle was a piece of paper. Dean slid it out and unfolded the lined sheet.

Skimming across his own hand-writing he sat down and read through it all. It was one of Sam's past attempts at psychiatry—having Dean write a letter to his future self. He'd managed to forget all about it.

Remembering where his head had been at when he'd written it brought down his whole mood, the room growing somber with the pain of the past. Taking his own advice, Dean had burned the thing, imagining it was some vengeful spirit, the flames getting rid of it forever.

Days after, Dean was still rattled and found himself pulling away from Cas, Jody and Sam. It was Jody that had finally found him downstairs in the gym one afternoon, plying him with promises of sandwiches and beer if he'd open up to her. It wasn't often he did, and it had taken a long time to be close with her. Not because he hadn't liked her, but for all the reasons he was still ashamed to say.

"Your family is worried about you," she'd begun, passing him the plate of food.

Dean took it and dug in as he met her eyes with a shrug.

"What's going on Dean?"

All about the mental health crap BS, Dean swallowed his bite and told her the truth. "Back, uh, you know before…when I would talk to Sam a lot. He, uh, asked me once to write a letter my future self. It took some convincing on his part, but I did and I never thought I really kept it, but I must've and I found it the other day, and I'm just-I'm having a hard time shaking this, like, resurging connection to that version of myself. I didn't want to say anything to Sam or Cas. I've been hoping it was just, ya know, go away or something."

"But it hasn't?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I'm fine Jody. Really. You don't need to worry, I'm just feeling off, that's all."

Taking a seat on the other bench, she turned to him with all her attention. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're allowed to have days where you're not completely, one hundred percent okay. That's life Dean. In the meantime, I'll bring you delicious food. I know Cas can't cook for shit."

Dean laughed, throwing his head back. Damn, it was true too. Cas was definitely Ramsay's worse nightmare in the kitchen. Even now, Dean still felt bad about the horrid apple pie that Cas had attempted to make. The crust had turned out chewy somehow. How his damn hubby had managed that one was anyone's guess. To save Cas' feelings, he'd tried to eat it, but after that awful first bite, he just couldn't hold up the farce. Poor guy had been crushed, wanting so badly to be "the perfect spouse" or whatever. Despite the bad dessert, the whole thing had been pretty damn adorable, not that Dean said as such out loud.

"Man, remember that pie?" he said.

Jody snorted. "How could I not?! And that omelet he made Sam once with pickled beets?" Both of them cringed and shivered at the memory. The egg construction had been pink and it ranked. Evidently combining flavours and ingredients was quite beyond Cas' skills. But give him some plain fruit and veggies and he was good to go. Berry salads with whipped cream dressing was about the only dessert that Dean allowed him to create.

It had only taken another couple days for Dean to feel himself again, and true to her word, Jody had fed him well the entire time; all lasagna's and pancakes and burgers. At night Cas rubbed his back and kissed him, and despite Cas' never-ending randyness, he kept it all in his pants until Dean was back to normal. Granted, when they eventually did end up fooling around, Cas made an incredible performance as a sixteen year old and came within a minute of getting inside him. Dean had made fun of him all night for that one.

…

Two years ago, they'd gotten in a fight days before their anniversary. Cas had gone all Rambo on some secluded leftover Leviathan they'd come across, nearly getting himself eaten and Dean had been pissed. Course, he'd taken his anger to his brother first.

"My freakin' husband is being a goddamn suicidal maniac!" Dean had clipped off, storming into Sam's room the Thursday night after they'd gotten back.

"I take it the hunt went great!" said Sam sarcastically.

"Oh yeah. Awesome, Sammy. Really, I love watching Cas nearly die. Does amazing things for my mental stability. F-Y-I, you and Jody might want to wear ear plugs tonight cause I'm probably going to have some stupid ass nightmare."

His brother made a face. "Yeah, it's not for your nightmares that we have earplugs, Dean."

"Whatever. I'm telling you, he went off and tried to handle the stupid thing by himself. Obviously we hadn't been expecting friggin' Leviathan so we had none of that Borax crap, just a shotgun and a knife each. I ran back to the car to get one of our machetes to lop off its head and I come back and Cas is trying to fight the thing with his bare hands!"

"Dean, he wasn't being suicidal, he was holding down the fort while you went to get the right weapon. What did you expect him to do?"

Scrunching his face as if it were obvious, Dean said, "Follow me!"

"And risk losing it altogether?"

"Yes! Who cares if we have to go at it one more time? I'd rather that than Cas be dumb and get killed. Could you imagine?! Fuck no. I'm better, but I ain't that level of better. All of you are just not allowed to die, okay? Ever."

"Dean," Sam droned. "One day, one of us will die. One day you'll die, and it's taken me a long time to be okay with it, but you'll have to be okay with it too. Cas was doing his job—our job. That's the way this life is. We're hunters, always have been, and it's dangerous, but that's just the way it is. If it really bothers you, you don't have to be a hunter anymore. You and Cas can do whatever you want—whatever makes you both happy. I would never judge you for giving up the life. We both now I was desperate for it more than a few times. Hell, I let you rot in purgatory when I tried on a normal life for size."

"That turned out well, didn't it?"

"Seriously. It's possible."

The unexpected suggestion plagued him for hours after. When he found Cas in their room later on, he couldn't help but let the silence scream on. Naturally, it was Cas who spoke up as they were getting ready for bed amidst the awkward tension.

"I don't understand why you're mad at me."

"Because you were reckless."

"No more than you've been before. We've had close calls before this, even after…after what happened. Why was this time different? Was it because it was the Leviathan, or something else?"

It took Dean a while, standing there with his shirt bunched in his arms and his boxers low on his hips, he thought back to the split-second he stormed into the room and seen the dredge of purgatory open its mouth for Cas. It wasn't the potential for death that had truly bothered him—not in that moment anyway. It had been the look on Cas' face before he'd realized Dean was there to save him, that terrifying breadth of finality. The horror of his widened eyes that he might die. Of all the times Cas had died, or been close to death, Dean had never seen him afraid. This time had been different.

"You were scared," he said eventually.

Cas studied him. "Of course I was scared. I thought-I thought I might die and lose you. Don't mistake me, I know this is who you are: The Hunter, The Righteous Man, The Selfless Leader. And I love everything about you and I would never give up what we do because every now and then I get scared."

"What if I wanted to?"

"Wanted to what? _Quit_?"

"Yeah."

Meeting his stare, Cas went still, considering the suggestion and no doubt wondering how best to answer. "Do you really think you'd be happy working a nine-to-five job?"

"Probably not."

"Do you think I would?"

Thinking back on Cas' brief stint as Steve the convenience store worker, Dean smiled. "Actually, I think you would. I think you would be happier."

"I enjoy saving people, Dean."

"And if something ever happened to one of us, to Sam? To Jody? What then?"

Castiel pulled his shirt off over his head and rounded the end of the bed to Dean's side and took the Henley still held in his hands and tossed both with the rest of their mound of dirty laundry. Throwing his arms around Dean's neck, Cas leaned into him, brushing their lips together.

"Death is not the end. Not for humans, Dean. Heaven exists for you, for us. Nothing, not even death now, will keep us apart. I promise you that."

The fight was over but Dean had remained unsure about Cas' claim. Why would Heaven accept him after all he'd done? Was Cas being human now even the same as being born human? How was he so sure that they'd both end up together?

When their three year anniversary rolled around a couple days later, he woke up to find Castiel sitting cross-legged on the bed, beaming at him.

"Happy Anniversary!" he'd said with delight.

Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Happy Anniversary," he mumbled back.

"I have something for you."

Out of habit, Dean glanced down at his crotch. Cas laughed and smacked his chest. "Not that! At least, not yet."

He couldn't help the little frown that tugged down his mouth. Morning sex was a favourite. It was always lazy and uncoordinated and he friggin' loved it.

"We're going on a short excursion. Put some clothes on."

Dean whined. "Ya know, getting dressed is like the last thing we should be doing on our anniversary."

"It'll be worth it," promised Cas.

Fine. Throwing the blankets off, noting the heady scent and making a mental note that it would all need washing soon, he scoured the room for clothes. Neither of them were exactly tidy. And, usually, he could find a worn and comfy pair of jeans hanging from the dresser drawer or draped over the desk chair that now sat against the wall by the door. Every item of clothing was collectively "theirs". The only thing Dean never threw on was Cas' suit or beige trench.

Well…except for that one time when he'd decided to put on the coat and nothing else. The fond memory of doing Cas on top of it played across his mind as he finished getting ready for whatever Cas had planned.

"Now what?" he asked when he was moderately presentable.

Almost with an ominous nature, Cas stared for a long moment. And then there was a knock on the door; Cas grinned.

Dean was cautious as he approached the thing, turning the handle slow and drawing it open. There was a woman on the other side. One he didn't recognize.

"Hi Dean. Cas," she greeted; polite enough.

Before Dean could respond, Cas had come over to stand by him, threading their fingers together. "Hello Hannah."

Shit. That was Hannah? It was a little stupid that he felt jealous, but he'd always kind of known she had a bit of a thing for Cas. Well, jokes on you lady, he's _mine!_

As if she could hear his claim, she smiled knowingly at him and extended her hand. "Are you both ready?"

Though Cas nodded eagerly, Dean froze. "Cas, what's going on?"

Looking into his green eyes, Castiel tipped his head and moved in a little closer. "Trust me."

They were too far down the path of friendship, lovers, and marriage for him not to, so he grabbed Hannah's palm and tried not to panic about whatever unknown was on the horizon.

All at once, he felt the familiar sensation of being relocated by an angel with wings. When they reappeared in a new location, it was his old childhood home that dominated his field of vision.

"Cas?" he said in a strained voice. Hannah, he noticed, was gone.

"I wanted you to see for yourself."

"See what?"

"That soulmates have eternity together."

It was just then that the front door opened and his mom and dad strolled out. The second they saw him, they each took off down the steps and nearly raced each other to his arms.

The warmth of his parents flooded around him and Dean was lost. Confused. And the only thing that grounded him was looking over his Dad's shoulder and seeing Cas there smiling warmly at him.

Battling against the tears that tried to break free, Dean mouthed his thanks for whatever strings Cas had pulled to arrange this—it couldn't have been easy.

Spending a couple hours in Heaven with his parents in their little slice of eternity had calmed a lot in his soul that he hadn't realized had still been rocked with unrest and worry.

When they'd laid in bed late that night, he told Cas what he had always feared. "I wasn't sure that they were together. Ash hadn't found them."

"Heaven is a very big place, I'm afraid. Even angels have a hard time finding those in it, as I'm sure you remember."

"And we'll get that? You really think after we both kick the bucket, we'll wind up in some celestial bunker spending our days fooling around and watching movies and stuff?"

"I'm sure of it."

"And you won't get sick of me?" he wondered, throwing his arms back and allowing Cas to drag his nails along the skin lightly, tracing the pattern of his veins barely visible beneath his tanned skin.

Surprising him, Cas laughed pretty hard. "I'm quite certain that's impossible."

Looking over, Dean grinned at Cas and wound up smirking with heavy-loaded insinuation. "It's still our anniversary, we should probably have sex."

"Hmm, yes, we should."

"Can I make a request?"

"Always."

"Do me slow and hot like that first time."

Cas hadn't responded with words, but with a playful grin as he rolled over on top of Dean and captured his hands above his head, peering down into his eyes.

…

Last year, Dean made Cas dinner and then drove them out to the same cabin they spent three weeks at after getting hitched, spending four days basically naked. Probably would have gone on longer if Sam hadn't called saying that shit was going down in some buttfuck nowhere town and they were needed. Crazy-ass witches it turned out.

It was after that last anniversary that Dean had managed the longest stretch without any problems. Unfortunately, this had made him over-confident. Imagining even that he was fully cured of his past, knowing what he told himself was a lie.

It was a blissful string of months that carried on, full of smiles and family moments and killing things that needed to be killed and incredible orgasms and back massages. And all of it teased a normal life, a normal version of himself. It made the nightmare he'd had three weeks ago seem about a thousand times worse as a result of its drastic disruption to the easy-peasy way his life had been going.

The nightmare had been brought on by Cas' absence. He was sure of it. Jody and Cas had gone on a case, leaving the day before Sam and Dean had gotten back from their own monster hunt. Because of the overlap, he'd had to go two whole weeks without Cas—a time span he hadn't had to suffer through before. At least, not since they'd been together.

_Three weeks prior…_

Dean had woken on the mattress tossing wild punches at Sam—the younger brother having come into the room to wake Dean up, only to be met by a still sleeping nightmare-ridden attack. A black eye and a bag of ice for both of them later, and they headed back down to old territory to hash it out.

"Haven't had one like that in a good while," observed Sam.

Still agitated, Dean simply nodded, the stench of his sweat still thick in his nose.

"What was it about?"

"Same old…"

"One or two?" This was his and Sam's code for Dean's different versions of fuckery. One meant him doing bad shit, two meant bad shit done to him. They were triggered by different things. Lingering sensations or thoughts still cropped up on him from time to time. For the most part, Cas was good at distracting him and setting him right again. But after a long stretch of good times, the break back to these kind of nightmares was hard to handle.

He was quiet for a minute. "One," he answered with guilt tightening his throat. In the last five years, he'd uttered the word two more than one, and he hated feeling weak about it even after all this time.

"Anything specific?"

Dean leaned back in the chair, grabbing the end of the armrest as he mulled over his nightmare and searched for the right way to explain. "Uh, just bad, Sammy, I don't want to get into details. It was just…yeah…not good."

"You were saying her name when I came into the room," Sam noted.

"Doesn't surprise me. I was…" Letting out a low curse, he continued, "I was fucking encouraging her." Dean had to close his eyes and swallow back the pain of shame and guilt.

"It was just a nightmare, a depiction of something that frightens you. But it's not at all who you are."

"You know what really frightens me, Sammy?"

"What?"

"That, sometimes, I think about her and I wonder what I'd do if she were suddenly standing in front of me."

Sam snorted. "You'd find some way to kill her, that's what."

It was Dean's long silence after that had Sam starting to look worried. Dean braced himself to continue. Even after so long, this fear rode high up over all the rest. It was one that had been bothering him since the beginning of his recovery. "I wouldn't," said Dean.

"Of course you would. Even if it was impossible, you'd at least try. I know you would!"

Closing his eyes, Dean imperceptibly shook his head. "I'd drop to my knees…" Dean admitted, not able to look his brother in the face after that god-awful truth.

Sam's voice was steely. "No you wouldn't Dean."

"You don't get it, Sammy. I'm-I'm better, really. I know that. I've got you guys—a family. I've got Cas. I wake up happy more days than I don't. But the thing is, I'm telling you, if I saw her right now and she looked at me, I'd go down. The hard-wiring to be her toy, her play thing, her vessel for fun is buried in here"—Dean patted his chest—"it's muted and I can ignore it, but sure as the way you felt Azazel's blood in you is the way I still feel her in me." And there were rare moments, Dean tacked on silently, where he was sure her rage boiled up from the depths of hell and lanced at him—the sharp lash of her sense of betrayal breaching through the dimensions to remind him what would happen if she ever managed to escape.

Dean's awareness of his surroundings had muffled as he spoke and it startled him when Sam reached over and closed a hand around his forearm. "After all these years Dean, and all the talks we've had, and everything I know about what happened, I can tell you that I am one-hundred-and-fifty-percent sure that you wouldn't succumb to her. You're still scared and it makes sense that what you fear most would seem plausible to you, but that doesn't make it truth. And anyway, even if, in some ridiculous possibility that you did, briefly, lose yourself and…give it up to her…Cas, and Jody and me would be right there to get you up. We make each other strong now, Dean. You've always been there for me when I needed you, even when I didn't want your help. The worst of your nightmare is over, but I'm still here. We're all still here."

Damn, this conversation was more intense that he'd been planning on when he'd followed Sam into the bowels of the bunker for a resurge of their little chats to help get past his nightmare. Hearing Sam's vow, not for the first time that he would always be there—no matter what—was always met with a twinge of resistance on Dean's part. The one terrible memory that concerned his brother was still an unacknowledged and unspoken black mark over their relationship. He always wondered what Sam thought of him because of it. Maybe today was the day to bring it up. There was no one else in the bunker, Cas wouldn't be home and therefore Dean wouldn't have to explain why for the first time in a long while he wouldn't want to be touched.

"Look, there's something I need to say, that I need to get off my chest before it eats away at me forever. I need you to shut up and listen, okay? I need you to not say a damn weird when I say this, either before, during, or after. When I'm done, let's just pretend this conversation never happened, okay?"

Wisely, Sam looked down at the floor and said nothing.

Glancing down at his hands around the ends of the chair-arms, Dean was grateful the tight grip staved off tremors. No doubt he'd be all jumpy if he wasn't clinging to the dingy sixties reject.

"As you know already Abaddon utilized everything she could to fuck around with me. Every relationship I'd ever had in my life, she took it and twisted it around for fun. And you know that included you. You know it did, and I know it's the one thing we never talked about and I get it. I do. Trust me, if I could go another five years and ignore it I sure as fuck would, but I never want you to wonder about anything so I need to just out and say it. She used a delusion of you, a…a…a younger version of you. Probably because she knew it would destroy me worse than anything else. But you've got to know she didn't do that because I've got some twisted thing about you. She simply had no boundaries, nothing was off limits. I wasn't then, and I am not now, in any way…like…weird about you or whatever. I swear to God, you are my brother and nothing more and I never want you to think I might've been harbouring some creepy unbrotherly feelings for you. _Ever_. And I never wanted to have to actually voice all this crap but I feel like you deserve to know for sure, in case you ever, like, wondered. I've never been stellar at mental health and relationships, but I promise you, I was never that messed up. Okay, maybe like for three seconds after I got back and it still felt like she was there, and then it didn't matter whether you were my brother or not, you were just something to toy with. Anyway, I'm probably good to shut up now but I had to get that out. And I'm sorry."

Holy silence, Dean thought. Shit, when he'd asked Sam not to say a word after, he'd meant about the subject at hand, not altogether. Fuck this was weird.

"Holy crap, say something before I lose my mind."

"I never worried about that, Dean. Not once. I knew without asking what she'd done—"

"—Sam! You're not supposed to comment!"

"—Shut up, Dean. It's my turn. The only reason why I always let you skip over it was selfishly because, yeah, it made us both uncomfortable, and I figure you knew that I understood. I didn't know it's been bugging you all these years. I know you don't see me that way. And the feelings mutual, just so you know. We might've had an unhealthy relationship for the majority of our adult life but it wasn't quite _that_ unhealthy." Sam laughed. "Oh man, remember when we stumbled across the fans that, uh, like wrote stories about us together. Man that was gross."

Dean was lost for a response, his tongue laying useless behind his teeth.

"Okaaaaay, moving on…" His brother smiled. "So, I might ask Jody to marry me." Sam looked sideways at him, notably uncertain.

"Shit, yeah?" Dean asked, his voice still shaky. Though he was immeasurably grateful for the change in topic—especially something so heartening. "That's awesome Sammy. Guess you're seein' me and my awesome marriage, huh?" he said, half-jokingly, given the fact that his better-half's absence had brought on nightmares. "Gettin' jealous of your older bro, are ya?" he teased, clinging to the change in the air of their conversation.

Sam laughed, full-hearted. "My God… I still can't believe you're married. But in all seriousness, man, you're good to him. Damn better husband than Dad was."

Glancing down, the praise sat oddly on his broad shoulders. "Doesn't always feel that way."

"Every marriage or relationship or whatever has the occasional hiccups. Doesn't mean its bad, Dean. Most of the time you two go through hunts flirting like teenagers, and coming home and shutting up in your room with Cas for like ten hours. And I _know_ neither of you are sleeping—"

"— _Hey_ , we sleep!"

Sam scoffed. "Not based on what I hear coming through your door."

"Oh like you're any better," he bantered back, a smile growing wide.

"Jody and I are discreet," Sam smirked, his face turned high and a little haughty.

Their eyes met for a long minute, mouths turned up at the corners before laughter split free.

After long sighs, Dean shifted around to square himself with Sam. "So, you're gonna pop the question, huh?"

Closing his eyes, Sam nodded. "Yup, it's feeling that way. I wasn't sure for a long time. She's been through a lot in the past, and things were good with us just the way they were. But now, with the years behind us, I find that… I want to call her my wife, I want to see a ring on her finger—You know, I catch you looking at Cas' ring every so often." Sam paused, eyebrows pinching, "Is it weird, sometimes, seeing Dad's wedding ring on Cas?"

It's something his brother had never asked before. "Nope. I don't even really think about Dad much anymore. I mean, I loved the guy, but what sticks with me the most…why I even bothered to keep wearing that ring all those years was remembering how much dad loved mom. The devotion he had." With that, Dean snorted. "Would'a been awesome if he'd been that devoted, ya know, when she was alive and all. But hey, people have it worse off right?"

Sam deadpanned him. "Worse than us?"

Grinning, Dean couldn't help but shrug. "Oh I'm with ya, I mean, ya we've been put through the ringer," his mind detoured in a breath before swerving back to normal, "and shit's gotten bad, real bad, but there are some people who've got nothin'. And for all the shit I've been dealt, I got you and I got Cas, and Jody. So yeah, there are people worse off."

Conceding to his logic, he watched Sam smile and smooth out the wrinkles in his jogging pants before standing up, likely deciding to head back to sleep.

"You gonna be alright the rest of the night?" he asked, scrutinizing Dean the way he once used to.

"Yeah, I'm not all that tired anymore anyway, gonna watch some Stooges reruns and send Cas a dirty text or something and get my mind off of everything."

Amused, Sam brushed a hand through his long hair, down past his shoulders now—having gotten into the habit of growing it out. It wasn't all that acceptable for a posing FBI agent but Sam's firm countenance and impressive bulk seemed to call peoples tongues back before they said a thing about it.

Before he could head out, Dean shot up from the chair and threw his arms around his brother's larger frame, taking in the familiar smell of his deodorant. Stifling some choking emotions, Dean pushed the words out, the ones he wasn't even sure he'd said more than twice in his life to his brother. "I love you, Sammy," he said, finding he could get it out now that he knew Sam knew everything.

Sam crushed him in the hug, a strange gasp telling Dean how shitty he was at showing his brother affection. "I love you too, Dean."

"Sorry I'm crap at this kind of thing," he said as he drew back.

Sam smiled, relieved and happy altogether. "Don't sweat it. You're the best brother a guy could have." Patting Dean once on the shoulder, Sam turned his back and headed down the path between the tables and the filing cabinets and left Dean by himself.

In the quiet afterwards, his eyes were drawn to the surface of the rectangular tables down the centre of the long room, remembering that this was where he'd sat and drawn out the tattoo that sat on his back—his vow. Just a name. But it was enough. It said more than most words would have. He remembered clearly how determined he'd felt that day, how full it made his heart to feel the black ink marking him up.

With a dim smile, he remembered when Cas first admitted the greater meaning behind it and why, when the angel had seen it that first time he'd gotten all choked up, beaming and over-excited more than Dean had expected.

It'd been some random night meeting up with V for drinks, having kept in touch with some of those guys that had fought with them.

"You tell him yet?" V asked Cas with a broad grin, the tips of fangs just visible.

"Tell him what?" Cas shifted his gaze from Dean back to V. Dean followed the direction of his blue eyes, wondering what additional secrets Cas might have. At the time, a year and half into the whole married thing, he lithely kicked Cas under the table, shooting him a glare.

"About that tattoo…and what it means?" V alluded, eyes widening, smile inching up more.

Dean tightened his stare at Cas, who looked to the side sheepishly.

"Oh, c'mon!" Dean spouted. "What now?"

Since his formerly-winged significant other seemed to have gone shy on the subject, V jumped right on—straight to the shit just the way Dean liked. "In our world, part of the mating ritual, or marriage as you'd call it, includes the male carving the spouses name into his back. So, in a way, you kinda married the guy before you married the guy, ya feel me?"

"Carved?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, we're pretty badass that way."

Feeling his brows shoot up, Dean reached over to wrap his hand around Cas' forearm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought it might upset you."

Dean rolled his eyes, hauled him close by his shirt and kissed him hard on the mouth, hearing V audibly clear his throat across the table.

With his focus returning to the wood tables before him, Dean had pulled out his phone and texted Cas in a way that would distract him from his earlier nightmare and the off-putting conversation with Sam, making full use of the dirty emoji app that he'd downloaded some time ago.

/\/\/\

_Back in the present…_

The past anniversaries swaying around his thoughts with endless side memories that followed along, Dean stood between the bed and the long desk where the TV sat on one side, and a large mirror dominated the wall behind the remaining length of the table.

He really fucking wished they weren't stuck on a case. Five years seemed like a pretty damn big deal. It sucked that he had no real gift this year. Just as he'd been planning on putting his mind to it, the case had dropped in their laps and now he was half-dressed and getting ready to go interrogate the chief coroner about the body that had turned up four days ago sans organs south of the lungs. Personally, he had half a suspicion that the case was more black market organ selling than witchy-monster-y, but the chances were still decent enough that the disembowelment was less 'Shameless Frank needing a booze-ready liver' and more 'extra hungry monster with a penchant for fresh meat'.

The unmistakable sound of the Impala pulled into the space in front of the ground-floor motel room door and Dean automatically smiled. A few months after they curved the onslaught of a new evil, it became quite clear that the Impala and Cas' pimp mobile wasn't enough for four people. Mostly because Cas was the only one who ever drove the tan, hoppin' boat-car. Together, he and Sammy finished repairs on the Thunderbird in the bunkers garage, and that had become Sam's baby. For good luck, they'd carved their initials into the underside of the truck hatch.

Jody had gotten her M license and often took the old chopper for a drive. In fact, it was one pastime that Dean shared with her alone. On clear evenings, leaving their better half's to read away in the bunker, they took Dorothy's old Harley, and the one tuned up Indian bike for a long cruise, letting the wind flow against their skin. What a good woman, he thought.

The motel room door was pushed open and Dean caught Cas' blue eyes through the mirror. The remarkable blue was not tuned to his face but to the expanse of his back.

"See something you like?" Dean teased, smirking into his own reflection.

In a heated response, Cas bit the corner of his bottom lip and crossed the room in two quick strides. The crisp dress shirt that covered Castiel's arms slid against his sides as Cas closed him in from behind, pulling Dean flush against his chest.

"I'm so happy you haven't left yet," said Cas, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"How come you're back anyway?"

Moving out of the hold, Cas backed up and sat down on the bed, pulling his suit jacket off at the same time. "I've called in some backup to take over for us."

Dean turned around. "Why would you do that?"

Cas scoffed and leaned back on his arms. "If memory serves today is our five year anniversary. And, actually, it's been almost ten years that we've known each other. I'd say that is also something to celebrate."

Shit. Cas was right. September 18th, 2009 was the day Cas had first rescued him from hell. And look where they were now. Mother of fuck, he'd gone and married an angel, when about ten years ago he hadn't even believed they'd existed.

"How's that for a meet cute, right?"

"Is that a reference to chick flicks?"

"Damn right it is. And don't give me that look, you like 'em as much as I do!"

Cas smiled back at him and beckoned Dean over with a single curl of his finger.

Knowing by the look in Castiel's heated stare that things were gonna progress to sex, Dean unhooked the clasp of his dress pants, yanked down the long, dainty zipper and let the black fabric fall to his feet.

Clad in nothing but navy blue boxer-briefs, Dean straddled Cas' thighs, his knees sinking into the quilted bedspread. What an ugly thing it was too, not at all worthy of the mess they were about to create on it.

"I haven't got a gift for you. The case came up and I didn't have time and had no idea what to get."

Cas squinted at him. "We don't normally _get_ each other anything, Dean. We normally just find time to spend together. Usually naked…and winding up covered in each other's spit and come. But that's a gift of sorts, and one I quite enjoy."

Stifling a laugh, Dean shook his head and bent down to kiss his quirky man. "A gift of spit and come. Well, _that_ I can deliver."

It occurred to him that they actually hadn't had full-on intercourse in weeks. Not since before he'd left on the last case. The thought of being put on all fours and drilled was crowding his mind, making it hard to focus on dragging out the inevitable.

/\/\/\

Watching Dean's array of expressions, Castiel suspected he was wild-minded at the moment, wanting something raw to explode between them. It tended to be that way after they went long stretches of time without much more than late-night tired hand-jobs and the occasional head when the moment struck right. The last few weeks since he'd gotten back from the case with Jody, Dean had been particularly edgy compared to the earlier months that year.

It wasn't Dean that had alerted him to the why of it, but Sam. A brief comment in the kitchen one morning: "Dean had a bad nightmare while you were gone and we had a pretty difficult talk so just a heads-up that he'll be a little off for a bit." Castiel had not asked for details. As long as Dean had _someone_ to talk to, he was happy.

Turning up to catch those green eyes as they began to dilate, Castiel shifted to bring his arms around to the front so he could begin unbuttoning his shirt.

"Hey, that's my job." Dean pushed his hands off, and pressed down over him. "Ease up the bed."

Doing as he was told, Cas held Dean's stare until he was laid out over the rough comforter.

On his knees, and braced by one arm, Dean began to unbutton the crisp dress shirt one-handed. The movement was well-practiced and smooth. The occasional teasing grin worked at Castiel's arousal, heightening it and getting him ready for a true celebration.

As Dean tugged the pale gray shirt from the tight band of his dress pants, he bent low to lavish Cas' sensitive neck with suckling kisses that tingled as the blood was pulled right to the surface. The rough scratch of Dean's permanent weeks' old beard tickled over the softness of his skin and it made his erection swell. The firm weight pressed uncomfortably against the insides of his pants and he pleaded with Dean to get on with declothing business.

"Considering the look on your face about a minute ago, I thought for sure you would be tearing my clothes off. Instead, you've decided to drive me insane," Cas said.

Dean chuckled, nibbling at the fleshy part of his ear. "I want to bring you so close to insanity that you'll do whatever I want."

Feeling a sinking sensation in his stomach, Castiel sobered his voice. "And what exactly do you want that you think I need to be close to insanity in order to agree to?"

Making a non-committal noise, Dean lowered his hips and rubbed their groins together. The wet drag of a tongue against the hollow at the base of his throat clogged up Cas' need to argue this course of action.

In a series of choppy movements, they pulled his dress shirt off. The white t-shirt underneath was tugged over his head and he fell back to the springy mattress. The drafty motel room air skitted across his bared chest and his nipples tightened against the subtle chill.

Dean noticed. Smiling wide, he arched his back and leaned down to capture one of Castiel's nipples with his lips, tonguing at it and sucking the bud into his mouth. Watching Dean crowd over him, his light brown hair catching the afternoon light streaming in through gaps in the curtains, he warmed up fully into the moment, his thoughts turning slow and lazy.

The wet mouth artfully assaulting his nipples moved to the centre of his chest and began a path downward. Castiel slid his fingers into Dean's hair, smiling as he managed to dishevel Dean's perfect look. The short, straight hair was soft against his rough palms—calloused over the years he'd now spent as a human. Curving down to the back of Dean's head, sliding along the line of his neck, he encouraged Dean's progress lower.

Cool trails from the path of Dean's mouth marked his abdomen and as the soft lips reached the edge of his pants, they both stole a breath and reached simultaneously to begin getting the navy slacks off.

There was no point in wasting time and both his boxers and pants were pulled down his legs; Dean slipping his fingers into his socks on the way down and taking those off in one fluid motion as well.

On the way back, Dean paused, kneeling over his one thigh, familiar green eyes lost in a thought.

"What?" asked Castiel.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous." Dean absently reached down and touched himself, sliding his hand up the length of himself over his boxer-briefs.

"So are you," he said.

Even now, Dean took praise with apprehension, his cheeks turning pink but not in the normal way. The expression always made him seem vulnerable. Settling over him, Dean planted himself between Cas' legs and their chests met fully, breaths competing with each other. They gazed at one another in a languid sort of anticipation.

With his elbows crushing the pillows at either side of Castiel's head, Dean brushed against his lips once, twice, and another before he worked into his mouth with his tongue; the heat of the kiss rocketing from a candle-flame to a hearth-fire as Dean angled to deepen the kiss with a moan.

Just as he was loosening into the pattern and familiarity of making out with Dean, the man in question reared back and grinned devilishly. Dean ran his blunt nails over Castiel's skin as he shuffled down the bed.

For the next eight thousand years, Dean teased him with the trail of his fingers and the heat of a slick mouth on every inch of skin surrounding his groin without once curving that building frustration with one, simple, stroke. Of a tongue, or a hand. Castiel didn't care. Heck, he would settle for Dean's leg accidentally brushing against his cock at this point.

At the moment, Dean's mouth was sealed over the inner dip of his pelvis, sucking hard enough that it tingled. It maddened him to be teased this way. Dean knew full-well that he could never handle the strain of it.

"Touch me before I lose my mind," he said.

Dean looked up from his bent, taunting position and maintaining that heated stare, snaked his tongue out and flicked the underside of his cock. "There. Is that better?"

Nearly infuriated, Castiel growled. "You know I can't stand being teased like this." Not when it's been so long, he wanted to say, but didn't.

"I'll give in only if you give me a pass later."

"For what?"

"Whatever I want."

"Dean—"

"—Don't worry, it's nothing crazy. Just say yes."

"You're not getting a blanket freebie, Dean. I'll do what you want only if I think it's okay."

"Fiiiine!" Dean whined and rolled his eyes. "You do realize it's been almost six years. I'm practically a poster-child for mental stability now."

Cas had to laugh. "Sam said you had a nightmare three weeks ago."

"For one, that was…not _that_ kind of nightmare, ya get me? And two, it was like the first one in forever!"

"How about we keep fooling around and we'll make the decision together whether we diversify our sexual portfolio."

Smiling in a way that seemed to mock him, Dean said, "You need to lay off CNN."

Castiel was about to argue the importance of keeping up to date with everything when Dean curled over and swallowed him in one move. The overwhelming heat seemed to radiate from his dick to the ends of his fingers.

" _Mmph_ …fuck, yes," he sighed.

Assuming Dean would go slow, he was blown away when the mouth on him glided up and down his shaft in quick, smooth motions. Saliva built on him and dribbled down to the base, trickling between his coarse hair and down over the smooth delicate skin that covered his sac.

"Dean," the name fell from his lips as his hands reached for Dean's bobbing head. He threaded his fingers through the thick, straight hair and guided Dean, caressing him. The muted groans and wet gasps as Dean swallowed and sucked at him brought him to a different kind of madness than before.

He got close—too close. "Stop, stop, stop."

Gradually sliding his lips off, Dean sat back and grinned, his mouth sinfully swollen and shiny. "Spread your legs."

Castiel reached back and clutched at his own messy brown hair, pulling on it to expel his tension. Still, he parted his thighs and eased his knees back.

Having closed his eyes, a shudder ruptured from him the second Dean's tongue lapped at the nerve-ridden entrance. This, too, was nothing more than a tease because he knew Dean well enough that this would end with Cas topping. Not that he minded in the least…but the taunt of that tongue was mighty distracting.

In a few short moments, Dean was all over him—a fist stroking his cock from base to tip, a mouth giving sloppy, dirty kisses to his nuts and two fingers plying at his ass.

"Dean—" he warned, sensing that swift pull in the pit of his stomach.

Every incredible source of stimulation disappeared all at once. Goddammit, it was cold, he thought. Shaky in the way only humans could get from severe sexual need, Castiel expanded his lungs and tried to regain his bearings.

"Are you fully and completely aroused?" Dean asked, half-excited, and legitimately curious.

"Achingly, yes," he answered without a spare breath. It took some effort to ease up onto his knees, his erection full and tight in the centre of his hips, the skin matching the colour of his nipples, and the head nearly purple.

Quickly capturing his hand, Dean kissed it and let go before he laid back onto the rumpled comforter. Seeing the excitement lighten Dean's eyes reminded him that they might be doing something a little different today.

"Remember, it's our anniversary," said Dean, as if that alone would have Cas giving in.

Laying on his side beside Dean, he got comfortable and met Dean's waiting stare. "Okay, what is you want?"

"Dammit, Cas, I was supposed to ask you this when you were delirious with pleasure."

To make a point of it, he grabbed his sex and dragged it against Dean's thigh, smearing the small amount of precome all over Dean's skin. "I'm…not far off from that. Just say what you want, you've brought up things before, why is this different?"

Dean looked away. "Cause I think you'll say no without really considering it."

"I promise to keep an open mind."

/\/\/\

Whew. Okay, here goes. Dean bit his lip and actually felt himself grow hard from the thought of it.

Looking Cas right in the eye, he said, "I want you to tie me up."

"No!" Cas blasted back. Not taking even a second to consider it at all.

"Hey! You promised to keep an open mind."

"Yes, when I thought you would suggest something weird! Not an activity that might throw you into a panic and then make me feel terrible!" argued Cas. The poor guy looked a little hurt just to think of it.

Dean was adamant though. It had been a long time from the past and yeah, there was a lot that still got to him. But there was something about giving up his trust to Cas on this monumental anniversary that he couldn't shake. He wanted to be one-hundred-percent vulnerable to Cas. In a strange way, it would be cathartic for him.

"What, so you'd be fine if it was something super weird, like me wanting to babble like an infant and call you daddy, but you tying me up is all about the hell no? Really? Listen for a minute, Cas… You are legit the best thing that's ever happened to me. I trust you more than anything. More than my life—there are about a dozen or so hunters I'd trust with my life, but I trust you with…you know, that other side of me. The one that got turned on its head. I'm a little messed up because of that and I always will be and I'm okay with that, but I've been thinking about it for a while and I thought—Hey!—why not on our anniversary? It's like, therapeutic or some shit."

Pausing, Dean assessed Cas' reaction to his pleaded case. When the former angel had nothing yet to say, Dean chatted away. "We've been through so much together. You're always there for me, and I know it's gonna be that way until we die—whenever the hell that is. And even after, like you said, we get eternity, right? We get Heaven together. Fuck, Cas, we've made it this far. A little rope ain't gonna fuck that up. I love the thought of being completely vulnerable to you. Not in a bad way, I promise. It's a trust thing. It's okay because I'm with you."

Going silent once more, he prayed that Cas would say yes.

"I wish I were still an angel so I could read your mind."

Dean reached over and gently cupped Cas' cheek. "No, Cas. That's the point. You don't need to read my mind. I trust you…" Trying to lighten the mood he said, "Besides, people do way crazier stuff than simple restraints."

"Those people do not have your past," Cas reminded gently.

"Okay, yeah, I'll give you that one. But c'mon. It's our anniversary—consider it my gift!"

Castiel groaned, his eyes rolling back. The reaction was all sorts of defeat. Dean beamed and threw his arms over his head, ready to be tied in whatever way Cas saw fit.

"I'm not tying you to the bed, I'm only going to bind your hands."

"Works for me!" Dean followed Cas with his eyes as his husband eased off the bed and searched the room for a tie and the bottle of KY that was buried in one of their bags.

As Castiel started looping the fabric around his wrists, Dean kept his eyes open and accessible, sensing that Cas was scrutinizing every little expression that passed over his features.

"I'm fine, Cas."

Instead of replying, the former angel tightened the second knot, the restraint pinched his skin. Hmm, Dean assessed his position and sat up to rearrange himself, tucking his legs through his joined arms so that his hands would be behind himself, he spread his knees and lowered his face to the pillow. Tied up, ass in the air. The hubby nice and hard behind him. Perfect, thought Dean.

"Goddammit, Dean," Castiel said in a low murmur. The deep thread of arousal marking his words in a way that made Dean want to squirm. Years ago—Heck, even two years ago—this position would've reduced him to a terrified mess. Somewhere buried deep, Abaddon's leftover influence and control sat like an old scar, and yeah, sometimes he still worried that if she ever returned he'd lose himself. But he and Cas, and their fucking marriage had bloomed into this great thing. There was understanding and compassion and loyalty. By offering up his vulnerability, Dean was giving Cas every last piece of himself.

Cas' hands started to stroke him; his back, his sides, down his thighs and across his calves. As deft fingers tickled over the soles of his feet, he felt the tingle of the touch slither up his legs to his ass.

"Are you going to tease me the way I teased you?" he wondered.

"Do you want me to?"

An unrefined plea rose up out of his throat. "Fuck, yes."

One hand gripped his ass cheek, massaging it roughly as the other slid up his spine and stroked into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. Shivers coursed over his skin and when Cas' lips softly met the top of his cleft he moaned.

Cas caressed every inch of him, calloused palms gliding across his slowly dampening skin. Moving around his position on the bed, Castiel kissed everywhere he could reach; from his shoulder blades to his toes. Bending down to Dean's narrowed sightline, Cas licked across his lips as his right hand reached back and fingered down the crease of his exposed ass.

"Are you okay?"

Dean closed his eyes, half-annoyed but secretly grateful that Cas was considerate enough to ask. "Yes. I want you to fuck my mouth," he demanded.

 _Yes_ …normal healthy desire was rocketing through his limbs and Dean was fucking thrilled. And it was awesome that Cas seemed to pick up on his mental stability. He kind of felt proud.

Gently easing him up, Castiel moved in front of him, kneeling with his butt on his heels and held Dean's face in his hands. With his arms strapped behind his back, his balance was thrown and it made the prospect of taking Cas' thick sex in his mouth that much more exciting.

Dean let Cas control the movement, lowering him down and Dean opened his mouth and let the engorged length of flesh push in over his tongue. Closing his lips in a seal, he moaned around the intrusion, giving Cas the cue to get to it.

It began slow, Cas driving his hips up and back, hands holding him still for it. Before long, the pace picked up as they both began to let go and relax into the feeling. Dean tensed his abs and did what work he could.

Above him, Cas was panting in ragged bursts, gradually losing his composure. "Fuck, your mouth feels so... _good_."

Dean chuckled. He took a breath in through his nose and sank down until he couldn't go anymore. With a stifled whimper, Cas pressed into him and they both flinched at how great it was. Not even for a second did Dean worry or panic, because it was Cas. The pressure was gone before he knew it and Cas started to pull out all the way.

Cas wiped Dean's mouth with his fingers and then bent to kiss him. They both sighed in the moment's pause of action.

"You're really okay." This time, Castiel was stating it, not asking. Dean grinned.

"I told you, with you, I don't think there's anything that would bother me anymore. I trust you, and more than that, my body trusts you."

Dean was assaulted with an eager, unrefined kiss. The smooth, broad lips slid over to his cheek and then to his temple. Castiel kissed him there and then brushed against his ear. "I'm going to make this very good for you, my beloved husband of five years."

Damn his man was corny sometimes. Maybe Dean kind of liked it, though. Just a little.

"I don't doubt it."

Gently pushing Dean back down, Castiel stroked the length of his spine. Dean turned his cheek to the bed and eased some of his weight onto his face.

"Widen your knees, please."

Shifting awkwardly, he managed. A hand moved between his thighs and curled up around to his front, taking his cock in hand and giving it a few strokes. On the return trip, Cas' fingers slid along the inside of his groin, fondling his dangling sac, rolling it around over his palm. Dean's breath grew hot as it crossed his lips and over the bedspread.

That other hand came from nowhere and Dean was stupefied for a moment. One hand cradled his nuts, and the other rubbed at his ass, squeezing it and plying him apart. Heat pooled in his belly and the sweat began to build up in places.

The snap of the KY bottle opening was so deliciously portentous. The cool liquid was spread around with Castiel's fingers, running up and down his cleft. Both hands moved around his lower half with familiar precision, knowing just where to linger and just how to graze his skin.

Five years later and he was still amazed at how Cas loved him, how easily they'd grown to trust each other. Even after everything, they'd managed to hold on to each other. Through death, and torture, and trauma, they made it.

Castiel tore him from his heart-warming thoughts as he pressed against Dean's entrance with a single finger, tucking just past the ring of muscle and then pulling back out. There was abundant lube, but Castiel still took his time.

"Relax," Cas said in a soft whisper, his one palm pressing against Dean's lower back, guiding him into more of a ball on the bed. The finger that had been teasing his rim, stroked all the way in. On the withdraw, Cas added another. They didn't always go quite so slow, but given the extensive time since they'd last done this, and considering it was the first time they were doing it with Dean tied up, he could be patient.

Eventually, three fingers were sliding in and out of him, his nerve-endings fired up and ready for the real show.

"I want you…all of you," Dean pleaded, his face smashed against the bed.

"I'm entirely yours." As he said the words, Castiel groped up the length of his back and rubbed across the expanse of his tattoo. Both of them moaned and strained towards each other.

Dean was so ready to feel Cas take him apart, to let go and trust him both to take care of him now and forever.

The long moment between when the fingers pulled out of him and the time Cas spent slicking himself up was a frigging eternity. Dean tried to keep himself loose and all about that trust. Straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of Cas kneeling on the bed, stroking the length of his dick, was apparently all the reassurance Dean needed.

The plump, velvety head slid into him with relative ease and with the position he was in, Cas' cock felt thicker, stretching the tightness of his body with each inch. The progress was inexplicably linked to his lungs, because as Cas went deeper, a drawn exhale was pushed from him.

Grabbing his hips, Castiel guided each thrust, rocking them together; Dean in a ball, his knees now under his chest. With his wrists bound together, and his body curled the way it was, the only movement left to him was being able to turn his head from side to side. Even that wasn't easy.

"Go harder." Dean's throat was tight, his body bracing for more.

With a grunt, Cas obliged, yanking Dean's hips down, his cock pushing into him in quick strikes, filling him completely. The abrasive crash of their hips that jostled Dean's unbalanced position was thought-dulling. Dean felt himself spinning away from the clarity of the moment. But in a good way, in one of those fuzzy, light-headed kind of ways.

Floating on the wave of his arousal, peaking and peaking as Cas pounded against him, Dean relished in being able to expose himself like this. To know that with Cas, he was safe.

"Fuck, yeah. Oh god, that's good," his words were a little muffled, but he knew Cas caught it judging by the increase in pace.

"'Love making…you…feel good," Cas panted between thrusts, his body curling around Dean as he slowed. Instead of faster and harder, Cas opted for deeper this time. His ass was plastered and molded to Cas' hips as the fucking turned a bit desperate.

It felt like Cas was trying to crawl onto him, the pressure of his movements crushing Dean to the bed. "Too much?" he asked in the midst of it.

Too much? Fuck, Dean half-wanted to cut the restraints solely so he could pull his asscheeks apart and somehow get Cas even more apart of him than he already was. "Fuck no."

"Oh thank Heaven." With a low growl, Cas grabbed his hips in a tight grip and went crazy, hips rubbing against him, the fucking becoming a discoordinated race to release. "I've gotta finish, Dean, I'm sorry. We can keep going after. But, dammit, I'm too close."

The drag of Castiel's cock drew back, and damn it tingled so fucking good. Dean didn't even catch a breath before Cas unleashed his frustrations and slammed against him. It was a quick, successive snap of his hips, slapping against Dean's ass. The obscene sound of them coming together brought Dean right to the brink as well, but he concentrated as hard as he could to hold it back.

The broken moans that roared up from Cas' throat as he got close turned into a loud series of shouts as he pumped his release with abandon, fully letting go. Dean allowed himself to be pliant through it, taking the feel of Cas' orgasm into his bones, loving the shudders that he felt deep.

Breathing heavy, Cas yanked at Dean's wrists. "What are you doing?" asked Dean.

"Off," was all Cas said, struggling in his post-orgasm delirium to undo the knots of the tie. The soft cotton was pulled away and the blood rushed to the bands around Dean's wrists, making the skin sharply red, he was sure.

Without warning, Castiel rolled Dean over onto his back. The come that had been in him, dribbled out down between his cheeks and he shifted on the bed away from the wet spot it had created.

Those heated blue eyes were zeroed in to the apex of Dean's hips, where his cock stood out over his pelvis, flushed and weeping for release.

"Tell me what you want," Cas said to him, smirking down, looking as if he wanted to eat Dean up.

"I love when you get that look in your eye," Dean teased, pulling his legs back. "I hope you're still good to go."

"We're not that old yet."

Dean laughed. "We're not that young either."

Cas shut him up by sinking two fingers into him and curling them forward. A ragged, animalistic kind of sound worked its way out of Dean's throat. Christ, that felt good. The rough sex had made him a little sore, but it heightened how everything felt and since he was still above-board with the head-stuff the only thing he asked for was more lube.

"It has been a while," commented Cas as he slicked them both up.

"Too long."

When the smooth, familiar sex moved back into his body, Dean sighed and loved the feel of it, the warmth of it. Cas wasn't quite as hard as he'd been, and considering the faint burn it was probably a good thing.

" _Mmm_ —go slow, babe."

The room's temperature increased considerably with Cas' body heavy on top him, his weight pushing down on the backs of Dean's thighs. Castiel strained to kiss him, breathing hard against his face. They both seemed to struggle for air as they crushed together.

Out of nowhere, Cas' hand curled around Dean's erection and began to stroke him, a barely there kind of touch that made him restless for more. The silky, thick push into him, slaking him with delicious pressure, the heat filling him up, Dean lost himself and let it all wash over him. The arousal built up strong and commanding, he felt the world lurching every time Cas drove his hips forward.

The hand on his dick tightened, moving with greater intent. Dean's breath stuttered and a damp fever claimed his skin.

"Fuck, Cas…my god, keep going, keep going."

Pulling out to the tip and moving back in, over and over, the tingle and the low burn claimed Dean's senses. Damn, Cas was so good to him. A thumb grazed over his slit and the sensation was nearly too much, it felt so good it hurt and he cried out. "Fu-uck, ahh-hha—"

A single, doled-out hard thrust left Dean breathless and speechless. As the measured wave-like motions returned, he braced for another one of those jarring gems. The air stopped coming and he waited and waited.

" _Hmph_." Cas grunted, gracing him with another randomized good slam. Once more, Dean stopped breathing. And back to the lazy slide of lubed sex, filling him and pulling back to leave him empty and wanton.

"Ahh, fuck…again."

Cas slowed his hips to a stop and quickened his hand instead. Dean twisted on the bed, groaning. He could feel his legs below his knees shaking as they stuck up in the air, his thighs pressed hard into his chest. The arousal had seized every muscle, and he felt the bed quiver under their shuddering weight.

The hand on his cock disappeared and he felt it rub down to where they were connected, the added touch at the exact place where Cas was fucking him turned him on in a wild sort of way.

"Fingers," he breathed out. A half-conceived request that he was too muddled to make clear.

Understanding, Cas rubbed against his entrance, no doubt feeling himself up at the same time, and tried to guide his fingers in alongside. "You need to relax more."

Trying hard to let go of the strain, he started to shake and nearly came right then and there. "Oh, fuck, Cas, just take me apart. I'm-I'm too, I'm, fuck, just fuck me. I can't talk."

Cas laughed and abandoned the attempt to finger him with his cock still nestled inside. Instead, he used his lightly lubed hand to stroke Dean in a broken pattern of fast, fast, fast, and then slow as still water, the pressure all over the place. Tight around the base and loose and swirly at the head.

Dean felt his jaw unhinge when Cas' hips snapped forward, crashing in a slap against his ass. The feel of his hard sex buried deep pulsed in a telling way. Damn, was Cas ready to finish again? Fuckin' hell that was hot. Through the haze of his sex-addled brain, he had a moment to be amazed that even though they were nearing middle-aged and had been married for five years they still managed to fuck each other like horny-ass teenagers. Considering his past, Dean was damn grateful for it. If there was one thing he never expected after leaving Abaddon's clutches, it was that he would wind up in any kind of healthy sexual relationship, and definitely not one that was arguably really fucking awesome.

Breathing heavy through his efforts, Cas closed in and kissed him with a string of moans vibrating their lips. It was messy and it was glorious. Opening his eyes, Dean stared in awe at the face above him—it was scrunched, eyes cinched tight as if he were trying desperately to hold on longer.

"Look at me," said Dean, his voice patchy and rough.

When Cas lifted his lids, the intensity of his dark blue gaze was nearly savage. They both groaned, foreheads bumped as Castiel curled his spine and pressed in deep, sinking all the way until he could feel Cas' weighted sac crush against the cleft of his ass. An electrified shudder ripped through him and just as the stretch and heat of it was close to pushing him over, it was eased out, leaving him empty.

"Caasss…" he begged.

In a quick move, Castiel moved one hand to Dean's face, his elbow down on the pillow and digging slightly against Dean's shoulder. It wasn't comfortable but he didn't care. The damp palm framed his face, a thumb rubbing down near his lips, mixing in with the half-purposed kisses and shared breaths.

The tight heat in his pelvis radiated out and the rough drag of Castiel's palm on his cock was kicking him higher and higher up towards release. The slow, dragging fucks of Cas' dick made it worse and Dean heard his shameless whimpers for more.

Gazing up into Cas' eyes, aiming all his building fire into the black in the very centre, he demanded with a look for Cas to take him over. No words being necessary.

A short breath later and Cas slammed against him, the resounding smack was lost amidst the sound of them both crying out. This time Cas didn't revert back to slow and soft, but appeased them both with wild, uninhibited fucking.

Their chests were slick with sweat, the room saturated with the scent of come and moisture. The pounding robbed him of the ability to expand his lungs. Dean laid on his back, legs bent to his chest and delighted in the jarring of his bones, the stretch and subtle ache of his ass, the pressure that he felt with each heavenly invasion. The broken, now heavily uncoordinated motions of Cas' hand on Dean's over-heated length was a building tease. The weight in his groin increased, the faint throbbing almost too much to bear.

"Oh god, fuck, ff-f-fuuuuck," panted Dean, his eyes rolling around, trying to stay locked on Cas'.

The blood rushed in his ears, and his mouth strained open and wide, attempts at pulling in some air cut off as he froze still to feel Cas take him over. His chest began to burn and all he saw were Cas' fierce blue eyes intent on him. The stare itself was as good, if not better, than the sex.

Everything faded away, leaving only his pounding heart, the feel of pressure and a distant, building throb. His legs were shaking, and he felt frozen in limbo.

"Dean…" Cas said in a heavy breath, now against the side of his face. The second time Castiel said his name it was rougher, strained.

Just as he felt the first pulses of hot come fill him, Cas whispered against his ear, "Dean, _breathe_."

In that instant, he crashed back to the earth, the oxygen getting sucked back into his lungs and when he took that needed breath, his orgasm rushed fast and hard, coursing through his body. The force of it was so intense that he was robbed of his voice. The whole of him pausing to absorb every throb and tingle and stretch and the warm glaze that coated his chest. The sound of Cas still moaning softly against his ear.

What felt like a million years later, Cas gently eased out; the release following quickly after to streak down over his skin and ruin, yet again, the already ugly comforter.

Dean rolled over, throwing an arm around Cas' chest and felt a contented murmur leave his mouth. "Holy Awesomeness Husband," Dean slurred, still exhausted.

Cas turned to face him, a relaxed pleasure smoothing out his features, "You always forget to breathe."

It was true. Dean smiled and stretched to kiss the side of Cas' mouth, his arm pulling his man a little closer. "Because you fucking take my breath away." Cheesy but true.

"I'm so exceptionally happy, Dean. After all we've been through and the last five amazing years. We've come so far."

Dean sighed, and promptly inhaled, taking in the mixed scent of their sex in his nose. Redirecting his gaze upwards, he met Cas' eyes. "To another five years," he said, and stretched to kiss his plush lips.

"To eternity," Castiel corrected with a grin.

Yeah, that sounded damn good to him. Dean cuddled up good and close, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. His heart beating a bit too fast, a little too excited.

Take a breath, Dean calmly told himself; you finally got everything you never let yourself want.

* * *

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have truly loved writing this story and I thank everyone who followed and commented and enjoyed it with me (both on ff.net when it was still a WIP and on here). I know it was a long hard road for Dean, but as promised, the ending was a happy one.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story or have concrit, please leave a comment and/or kudos, it would mean the world to me!


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